It seemed a bargain. Faith found herself shaking hands with the ogre and then sitting at his board. Her temper was over—Faith’s tempers never lasted very long—but its excitement still sparkled in her eyes and crimsoned her cheeks. Norman Douglas looked at her admiringly.
“Go, get some of your best preserves, Wilson,” he ordered, “and stop sulking, woman, stop sulking. What if we did have a quarrel, woman? A good squall clears the air and briskens things up. But no drizzling and fogging afterwards—no drizzling and fogging, woman. I can’t stand that. Temper in a woman but no tears for me. Here, girl, is some messed up meat and potatoes for you. Begin on that. Wilson has some fancy name for it, but I call lit macanaccady. Anything I can’t analyze in the eating line I call macanaccady and anything wet that puzzles me I call shallamagouslem.