She has also produced a little grated Parmesan cheese from somewhere.
Four-twenty p.m.

That was the best soup I ever tasted, even if it was full of typographical errors from the jumbling together of the little alphabet noodles.

Still, nobody but a proofreader could have found fault with that.

There was only one trouble with that soup: there was not enough of it--just one bowl apiece.

I would have traded the finest case of vintage wine in the Chimay vaults for another bowl.
Just as the woman brought in the soup Mittendorfer appeared, escorting a French lieutenant who was taken prisoner this morning.