"I'd forgotten. "Flight is still left me," replied Trenchard. 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. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York.
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