Children, impatient and unimpressed by the oysters, the girolles, had started to run across the marquee, miniature tailoring bunching at their shoulders, flower arrangements toppling in their wake. They had found her croquembouche and sunk their tiny fingers into the choux. Mrs. Edwards watched as custard oozed along their arms, onto the tablecloth, dripping onto the floor below, and her heart was a profiterole, crushed.
No kids srsly
