He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding. Have i not tarried? Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Have i not tarried? Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. Still have i tarried. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word 'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.
Those dripping crumpets, i can see them now. Tiny crisp wedges of toast, and piping-hot, flaky scones. Sandwiches of unknown nature, mysteriously flavoured and quite delectable, and that very special gingerbread. Angel cake, that melted in the mouth, and his rather stodgier companion, bursting with peel and raisins. There was enough food there to keep a starving family for a week.
Human manners are wildly inconsistent; plenty of people have said so. But this one takes the cake: the manner in which we're allowed to steal from future generations, while commanding them not to do that to us, and rolling our eyes at anyone who is tediously pc enough to point that out. The conspicious consumption of limited resources has yet to be accepted widely as a spirtual error, or even bad manners.
She glanced across to where tilly and her brand new husband were posing for photographs, tilly fluttering a fan coquettishly in front of her face. 'unfortunately i didn't realise there was a french revolutionary theme.' 'the marie-antoinette thing?' said dexter. 'well at least we know there'll be cake.