muttering under her breath. Lazy good fer nuthins, if they wanted they coulda got their own supper. Makin' an old woman like me slave my fingers to the bone.

'Tsk, tsking' about having to relinquish her fearsome hold on the attractive THING, she made her way to the fire, grabbed the iron hook and swung the bubbling soup out from the fireplace and into the kitchen.

Crabwalking to the back door, she bawled out, "Everywoman! Everywoman! Get yerself in here. We got payin' customers." She limped back to the pot and began ladling the soup into wooden bowls.

There was sound of heavy, lumbering footsteps behind her. "Get some of that bread on the shelf and slice it up," she said without turning around. "Nice and thick now. Except for Apil," she said. "Make his a thin one. Never known him to pay for a meal."

Everywoman's deep voice came obediently. "Yes, mummy. Evwywoman will cut bwead."

"Well, hurry it up, son. I'm nearly finished dishin' this up."