"O, Fanshaw, you're such an old woman."
The waitress, a rawboned woman with dead cod's eyes, hung over the table threateningly.
"Bring me some boiled eggs and tea and toast right away, please." Something in Wenny exulted strangely under the hostile glare of the waitress as she looked at his muddy shoes and unshaven chin.
"Three minutes?"
"Yes, and quickly please."
The waitress rustled starchily away.
"How funny Fanshaw, I'd been thinking of boiled eggs for hours and I never thought about their being three minutes."
"But, where have you been, you poor child?... I've been to Cham Mason's wedding."
"Heaps of wonderful places.... I've been finding my place in society."
"Where?"