“I noticed him call her attention to us as we passed down the room,” he answered. She raided their settlements in shifts, staggering her kills from tribe to tribe, undiscriminating of their petty politics. She recalled him. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. Even the love of a mother does not sway him. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present.
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