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           However,asIknewhowtender-heartedmydearDorawas,andhowsensitiveshewouldbetoanyslightuponherfavourite,Ihintednoobjection.ForsimilarreasonsImadenoallusiontotheskirmishingplatesuponthefloor;ortothedisreputableappearanceofthecastors,whichwereallatsixesandsevens,andlookeddrunk;ortothefurtherblockadeofTraddlesbywanderingvegetabledishesandjugs.Icouldnothelpwonderinginmyownmind,asIcontemplatedtheboiledlegofmuttonbeforeme,previoustocarvingit,howitcametopassthatourjointsofmeatwereofsuchextraordinaryshapesandwhetherourbutchercontractedforallthedeformedsheepthatcameintotheworld;butIkeptmyreflectionstomyself.

           ‘Mylove,’saidItoDora,‘whathaveyougotinthatdish?’

           IcouldnotimaginewhyDorahadbeenmakingtemptinglittlefacesatme,asifshewantedtokissme.

           ‘Oysters,dear,’saidDora,timidly.

           ‘WasthatYOURthought?’saidI,delighted.

           ‘Ye-yes,Doady,’saidDora.

           ‘Thereneverwasahappierone!’Iexclaimed,layingdownthecarving-knifeandfork.‘ThereisnothingTraddleslikessomuch!’

           ‘Ye-yes,Doady,’saidDora,‘andsoIboughtabeautifullittlebarrelofthem,andthemansaidtheywereverygood.ButIIamafraidthere’ssomethingthematterwiththem.Theydon’tseemright.’HereDorashookherhead,anddiamondstwinkledinhereyes.

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Roboto Lora
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