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202 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1952

She was living with her second husband, Lord Russell, on Telegraph Hill. When she went into the kitchen one morning she found the cook gasping; she asked what was the matter, and the cook told her that she had just cut off the head of the chicken they were to have to for dinner that night, and then the headless chicken had laid an egg.
'Show it to me,' said Elizabeth.
She looked at it pensively for a moment and then said:
'Give it to his lordship for breakfast tomorrow.'
Next morning, sitting at the table opposite her husband, she watched him as he ate the boiled egg. When he had finished she asked him:
'Did you notice anything funny about that egg, Frank?'
'No,' he answered. 'Was there anything peculiar about it?'
'No, nothing,' she said, 'except that it was laid by a dead hen.'
He gave her a startled look, sprang to the window and vomited. With a demure smile she added to me:
'And d'you know, I don't believe he ever really loved me after that.'