The oil lamps burned and the cook was taking her hair out of its pins, while Pillow bathed her child in the sink.Tanaquil advanced and, bravely opening the pail for the rubbish heap, began to rummage."Why, whatever are you after, Lady?""I'm looking for a nice juicy meat bone."Pillow gave a faint shriek.The cook said winningly, "Now, Lady. Just you wait, and I'll do you some fried bread—""No, it's a bone I want, with some good bits of meat still on it—roasted or raw, I don't mind.""Poor girl," said Pillow."There's been nothing like that for a month," said the cook, "not since the last dinner in hall. Is it the marrow you're after, for soup?""It isn't for me," said Tanaquil, irritated. The pail contained peelings and eggshells, moldy crusts and other unpleasant debris. No bones and no remnants of meat. She knew quite well the kitchen usually made itself a huge roast joint once a week, but perhaps they had been too lazy recently. "What have you got? Meat fat? Put that on some toast, thickly, for me—and a bowl of that green tea.""Green?" The cook shook her hair-knots.
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