\" Said John as he piled the papery remnants of their meal onto the tray. She reached for the door handle. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. She mentally resolved to do her best to avoid personal encounters with him in that instant. 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. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature.
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