Page 316 - sons-and-lovers
P. 316

the bread?’
            ‘By Jove!’ he cried, flinging open the oven door.
            Out  puffed  the  bluish  smoke  and  a  smell  of  burned
         bread.
            ‘Oh,  golly!’  cried  Beatrice,  coming  to  his  side.  He
         crouched  before  the  oven,  she  peered  over  his  shoulder.
         ‘This is what comes of the oblivion of love, my boy.’
            Paul was ruefully removing the loaves. One was burnt
         black on the hot side; another was hard as a brick.
            ‘Poor mater!’ said Paul.
            ‘You want to grate it,’ said Beatrice. ‘Fetch me the nut-
         meg-grater.’
            She arranged the bread in the oven. He brought the grat-
         er, and she grated the bread on to a newspaper on the table.
         He set the doors open to blow away the smell of burned
         bread. Beatrice grated away, puffing her cigarette, knocking
         the charcoal off the poor loaf.
            ‘My word, Miriam! you’re in for it this time,’ said Bea-
         trice.
            ‘I!’ exclaimed Miriam in amazement.
            ‘You’d better be gone when his mother comes in. I know
         why  King  Alfred  burned  the  cakes.  Now  I  see  it!  ‘Postle
         would fix up a tale about his work making him forget, if he
         thought it would wash. If that old woman had come in a bit
         sooner, she’d have boxed the brazen thing’s ears who made
         the oblivion, instead of poor Alfred’s.’
            She giggled as she scraped the loaf. Even Miriam laughed
         in spite of herself. Paul mended the fire ruefully.
            The garden gate was heard to bang.

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