It consisted of crusts of bread soaked in hot water and tempered with salt, pepper, onion, and a touch of butter.

And while he waited, crouched over the kettle, his son smoked his grayish clay and read his greenish journal; an old clock ticked and a little cat purred without provocation on the ledge of the tight-closed window.

Then the door opened and the rogue-girl appeared.

She shook her shoulders as though to dismiss the wetting she had got, took off her turn-down, speckly, straw hat, put on an apron, and rolled up her sleeves.

Her arms were full and firm and red; the whole of her was full and firm.