When the flight of time should really have
rendered abstinence and migration imperative the lighting
apparatus would signal the fact in the usual way.
Six minutes later Clovis approached the supper-table, in
the blessed expectancy of one who has dined sketchily and
long ago.
``I'm starving,'' he announced, making an effort to sit
down gracefully and read the menu at the same time.
``So I gathered,'' said his host, ``from the fact that you
were nearly punctual. I ought to have told you that I'm a
Food Reformer. I've ordered two bowls of bread-and-milk and
some health biscuits. I hope you don't mind.''
Clovis pretended afterwards that he didn't go white above
the collar-line for the fraction of a second.
``All the same,'' he said, ``you ought not to joke about
such things. There really are such people. I've known
people who've met them. To think of all the adorable things
there are to eat in the world, and then to go through life
munching sawdust and being proud of it.''
``They're like the Flagellants of the Middle Ages, who
went about mortifying themselves.''
``They had some excuse,'' said Clovis.
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