"Light or dark meat, Miss Hermione?" he enquired.
"Herm; likes th' light, but a drumstick for mine--an' please don't
forget th' stuffin', Geoff!"
"Tea, Mr. Geoffrey?"
"Thanks!" he answered, pausing to watch the curve of her shapely neck as
she bent to pour the tea, and to note how her white hand grasped the
battered teapot, little finger delicately poised.
"Say, Geoff--get busy!" said Spike wistfully. "I know the teapot's a bit
off on looks, but I broke the best one and--"
"I didn't even notice the teapot, Spike," said Ravenslee, meeting
Hermione's quick, upward glance.
"Oh, cheese it, Geoff, here you've sat with your fork in th' turk' an'
your knife in th' air, starin' at that teapot a whole minute."
"No, Spike, no! I was only thinking that tea never tastes quite right
unless poured out by a woman's hand--and the fairer the hand the better
the tea!"
"Which means--just what, Mr. Geoffrey?" laughed Hermione.
"Why, that Spike and I are about to drink the most delicious tea in the
world, of course."
"I'd rather be eatin' that turk' when you've sawed me off a leg," sighed
Spike.
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