“I think it comes from not eating much when I was a child,” James continued. “I wasn’t very well for much of my childhood.” “Oh?” she asked, concerned. He waved a hand, dismissing her worry, and then ducked his head under a tree branch hanging low over the path. “All in the past, I’m fine now. But I spent most of my childhood in bed and surviving on chicken noodle soup. My mother believed chicken noodle soup would cure all ailments.” “Funny,” Magda reflected. “I think the same thing about cake.”
