The last in the series of four Table d’Hôte abstracts. Fresh Rhubarb, the meal’s discomfiting conclusion, has roused these two to fight another day. An offhand remark, one careless aside, and they’re off and running!
He pointed out that no one could digest Fresh Rhubarb, anyway. Taking this more literally than he perhaps intended, she said, “Wasn’t it merely a figure of speech: the fruit was to be stewed and served with ice cream.” “Don’t be patronizing,” he snapped; “Don’t be pettifogging!” she retorted.
What is it with these two? Damned if even they really know, so why should we?