"I know, mum, savoury duck."
"Don't be ridiculous," I commanded. "We're wasting time."
"It isn't a duck really, mum. P'r'aps you thought it was?"
"When you say a duck, I naturally think you mean a duck."
I was getting tired.
"But I don't. It's made of the insides of animals mixed with onions. You buy them at tripe-shops, and they're real good."
I felt myself turning sick.
"Amelia," I said, trying to be patient, "will you remember it's breakfast we are discussing. I've called your attention to the fact several times. I think it will have to end in an omelet—a nice, light omelet. Do you know how to make one?"
Now Amelia will never allow that she doesn't know everything in the world, so her reply was guarded.
"It's made of eggs."