He Then Respires From The Diaphragm,
And Like A Troupe Of Trained Angleworms That Entire Mass Of Spaghetti
Uncoils Itself, Gets Up Off The Plate And Disappears Inside Him - En
Masse, As It Were - And Making Him Look Like A Man Who Is Chinning
Himself Over A Set Of Bead Portieres.
I fear we in America will
never learn to siphon our spaghetti into us thus.
It takes a
nation that has practiced deep breathing for centuries.
Chapter IX
The Deadly Poulet Routine
Under the head of European disillusionments I would rate, along
with the vin ordinaire of the French vineyard and inkworks, the
barmaid of Britain. From what you have heard on this subject you
confidently expect the British barmaid to be buxom, blond, blooming,
billowy, buoyant - but especially blond. On the contrary she is
generally brunette, frequently middle-aged, in appearance often
fair-to-middling homely, and in manner nearly always abounding
with a stiffness and hauteur that would do credit to a belted earl,
if the belting had just taken place and the earl was still groggy
from the effects of it. Also, she has the notion of personal
adornment that is common in more than one social stratum of women
in England. If she has a large, firm, solid mound of false hair
overhanging her brow like an impending landslide, and at least
three jingly bracelets on each wrist, she considers herself well
dressed, no matter what else she may or may not be wearing.
Often this lady is found presiding over an American bar, which is
an institution now commonly met with in all parts of London.
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