A few hardy birds were singing, but the sky was dark. When the stable clock chimed three-quarters, I was not sure if it heralded seven or eight. In either case it would have been too late to go back to bed, so I washed and dressed and headed for the dining room. Despite the unpromising morning, or maybe because of it, I was keenly looking forward to breakfast. This was the one meal which involved no formality: One helped oneself from candle-warmed dishes laid out on the long oak sideboard. These would be appetizingly piled with bacon and grilled ham, sausages, kidneys, black pudding, golden potatoes, fried and scrambled eggs. I was aware of missing the pungent scents of bacon and coffee before I entered. When I did, I found the sideboard offering nothing but baskets of bread and jugs of water. I was trying to work out what was wrong when Ralph came in. “Ben! I’m glad to see you’re an early Sunday riser. I doubt if we’ll see my sisters before noon, if then.” He put bread on a plate and filled a glass.
