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‘So you’re the psychic’ Sophie took a few shrimp from her mother and dipped them in sauce

‘My nahed ‘Joan of Arc’ It wasn’t an altogether pleasant sound ‘Better watch it You knohat happened to her’

Tall and slender, Sophie carried herself well, though with a slight slouch Her hair was dirty blonde and shoulder length She was, in fact, quite attractive Still, there was so that htly

Monsieur Béliveau arrived just then with blueberry tarts froerie

Candles were lit around the country kitchen and bottles of ere opened

The house sarlic and rose else

‘For God’s sake, canned peas?’ Clara looked in the pot Gabri and Olivier had brought

‘We took them out of the can,’ said Olivier ‘What’s your proble’

‘I would take that as a personal insult, if I were you,’ Gabri said to Monsieur Béliveau, who’d wandered over carrying a glass of wine and a piece of creaot therocer said somberly ‘Those are the finest canned peas row, right in the can It is only the military-industrial complex that has developed the ridiculous hybrid Peas in a pod As though anyone would believe that Disgusting’ Monsieur Béliveau said this with such sincerity Clara would almost have believed him, if it hadn’t been for the sparkle in his eye

Soon their plates were piled high with roasted laetables Fresh-baked rolls stea with butter and cheeses The table groaned under the happy weight, as did the guests Myrna’s massive bouquet sat in the center of the table, its arhs, pussy s, forsythia with the gentlest of yellow bloo, peony tulips of vibrant pink, were planted in the earth

‘And,’ said Myrna, waving her napkin like a rave;’ She reached into the bouquet and produced a chocolate egg ‘Enough for all of us’