It engenders choler, planteth anger.
We sighed happily into our espressi (75¢), pleased to be among the first diners in this accomplished yet simple bistro.
“Oh?” she said. “So you have decided to revise my guest list for me? You have the nerve, the – the –” I saw she needed helping out. “Audacity,” I said, throwing her the line. “The audacity to dictate to me who I shall have in my house.” It should have been “whom”, but I let it go. “You have the –” “Crust.” “– the immortal rind,” she amended, and I had to admit it was stronger, “to tell me whom” – she got it right that time – “I may entertain at Brinkley Court and who” – wrong again – “I may not.”
Picture a group of tired (owling starts about an hour before dawn and the last birds counted are gleaned from the merest traces of daylight), red-faced and pink-handed (worse when the count day is gray, snowy and the temperature is below freezing), be-booted and de-downed, (piles of hats, coats and gloves cover the beds in the makeshift cloakroom) men, women and children bunched together in a living room waiting to contribute their numbers to the total.
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