He ate the game fowl and sausages and even drank the wine, sweet from its late harvest, and with just a hint of something dead feet corpses’feet else. The something else was easily forgotten, though it tended to bob back up again, requiring further attention at inattention. So much of life demanded a kind of truce with perceived facts—one could not allow the suffering of the kitchen women, for example, to spoil the taste of capon.
