But why do you ask?" "Because—" stammered the boy. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. You don’t know what you ask nor what you say. She had refused to eat human beings when she had first learned her fate. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions.
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