“But fine!”
He took a piece of the crumb, wiped it round his plate edge, and held it up to her mouth. She shook her head.
“Not hungry,” she said.
“But it is one of the best pieces, and full of the fat.”
He cleared the plate; then pulled off his boots and flung them into a corner.
“Not much of a wedding,” he said, stretching out his feet and wriggling his toes in the worsted socks.
“N—no,” she replied, taking up the discarded boots and placing them on the oven to dry.
Herr Brechenmacher yawned and stretched himself, and then looked up at her, grinning.
“Remember the night that we came home? You were an innocent one, you were.”
“Get along! Such a time ago I forget.” Well she remembered.