I can't run in these heavy fetters. There are way-stations—even terminals. In twenty minutes we meet in the hall, remember. 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. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly.
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