s lugubriously down his museau.
quot;Une crise de foie. mort.quot;
I blanc gentleman, offers me a restorative snifter of as it trust Sirs incinerated tastes, and I can feel it put as it goes eructating dotle, in ic affability ocrats, I give of ake to be tances of my conception, valet er soufflé.
quot;I soufflé,quot; says t;Best I ever eat. Sent my compliments to truly exigeant gourmet to go easy on t time.quot;
So t rut! teful he message!
I te toucory, after, my mots up a lobster soufflé in (I believe) remembrance of Jean-Jacques, and le of bubbly in memory of ted until ting all tion of a tender sensibility, says tear:
quot;tell you e to my ex-valet, slip do;
quot;O; I stammer. quot;You are too good!quot;
Forto tco find my mot beginning tly, as tter melts like t of ted ceals open and in tippytoes ter matc say. tctalion all turn t of respect for tic moment, but I myself, tect of it, cannot forbear to peep.
o o signify caution and silence, and extends e delicacy and tact, s ure at miging on . An expression as of a baby in a sie sraverses Bourbonesque features. tempting to peer over o see terie de cuisine but gets in the way.
Per is to s , or else a genuine tribute to noic grace, he gooses her.
My motc a sigo bloen egg-, great artist t srembles, not once, as sray a mite of agitation stirs the spoon.
For it is, you understand, time for seasoning. And in goes just sufficient cayenne, time. Not a grain more. e a kiss.
tes topple into ts of as t in a trap. Surns all into the soufflé dish.
weaks.
And t;to !quot; Departing from t, my mot, smack! doo to th a low moan.
quot;take t,quot; sly ss the oven.
quot;; I cry.
quot;ould you it touc time?quot;
t temples long last o.
quot;Quelle femme,quot; he murmurs.
My motopch in hand, pays him no heed.
quot;S; I explain, overcome .
quot; dedication!quot