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. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. ” “Two words only,” Hill repeated. The old fool’s been working on you through your sister to keep off the stage.
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