"Well?" he said, as Spurlock reached his side. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. Perhaps you will meet him someday. “But I’m afraid you are going to be in a hopeless minority here as regards me. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel.
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