The man was my husband. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. “I knew you wouldn’t mind. 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. He looked at her, hurt. ” Annabel rose to her feet. “Oh, you know,” she said. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. Ah, these English! They travelled all over, up and down the world, not to acquire information but rather to leave the impress of their superiority as a race. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. Annabel! Annabel!” His voice became a shriek.
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