Electronic book host

This day
has been as long as the entire Christian Era.
Four p.m. Gerbeaux, who was allowed to go out foraging, under escort
of a guard, has returned with a rope of dried onions; a can of alphabet
noodles; half a pound of stale, crumbly macaroons; a few fresh string
beans; a pot of strained honey, and several clean collars of assorted
sizes. The woman of the-house is now making soup for us out of the
beans, the onions and the noodles. She has also produced a little
grated Parmesan cheese from somewhere.
Four-twenty p.m. That was the best soup I ever tasted, even if it was
full of typographical errors from the jumbling together of the little
alphabet noodles. Still, nobody but a proofreader could have found
fault with that. There was only one trouble with that soup: there was
not enough of it--just one bowl apiece. I would have traded the finest
case of vintage wine in the Chimay vaults for another bowl.
Just as the woman brought in the soup Mittendorfer appeared, escorting a
French lieutenant who was taken prisoner this morning.


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