I don’t quite know why. 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. She recoiled. The boat in which he rode was not overset. My Mom is hell bent on having the biggest, most beautiful house in the neighborhood, my college education be damned.
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