She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. 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. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness.
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