“I judged it better to do your breakfast myself. How do you like your eggs? Sunny side up?” “If you really want to know, I like them broken when they are half cooked and rummelled up with a fork.” “Panaché!” Marta said, delighted. “That is one I have not met before. We are growing intimate, aren’t we! I am probably the only woman alive except your housekeeper who knows that you like your breakfast eggs streaky. Or—am I?” “Well, there’s a woman in a village near Amiens that I once confessed it to. But I doubt if she would remember.” “She is probably making a fortune out of the idea. Eggs à l’Anglaise probably has a totally new meaning in France nowadays. Brown bread or white?” “Brown, please.”
Book:To Love and Be Wise
