Frankly, I did not. 'You
needn't be so impatient,' I retorted. 'I expect you've gorged yourself
on a good lunch in town. Anyhow, it won't take long to get dinner, as
we're having tinned soup and eggs.'
'Oh, damn eggs,' said Henry. 'I'm sick of the sight of 'em.'
You can see for yourself how unrestrained we were getting. The thin
veneer of civilization (thinner than ever when Henry is hungry) was
fast wearing into holes. There was a pause, and then I coldly
remarked: 'You didn't kiss me when you came in.'
It was a custom to which I was determined to cling with grim
resolution. If I allowed his treatment of me to become too casual we
might continue to drift apart even when we had some one to do the
washing-up.
Henry came over to me and bestowed a labial salute. It is the only
adequate description I can give of the performance. Then I went to the
kitchen and got out the cookery-book.
It is a remarkable thing that I am never able to cook anything without
the aid of the book. Even if I prepare the same dish seven times a
week I must have the printed instructions constantly before me, or I am
lost. This is especially strange, because I have a retentive memory
for other things. My mind is crammed with odd facts retained from
casual reading. If you asked me, the date of the Tai-ping Rebellion
(though you're not likely to) I could tell you at once that it
originated in 1850 and was not suppressed until 1864, for I remember
reading about it in a dentist's waiting-room when I was fifteen.
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