Teaser Tuesday is a weekly meme hosted by Ana Carter, and Cassandra Livingston, atSo Many Books So Little Time. Anyone can do it. All you have to do is: (1): Grab your current read. (2): Open it to a random page. (3): Share 1 or 2 “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page. BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS!! (4): Make sure you also mention the author and title.
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““So you see,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, ‘you’re a very wholesome man. That is your virtue and your defect. You have a wholesome character, and you want all of life to be made up of wholesome phenomena, but that doesn’t happen. So you despise the activity of public service because you want things always to correspond to their aim, and that doesn’t happen. You also want the activity of the individual man always to have an aim, that love and family life always be one. And that doesn’t happen. All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade.””
” ““If you prefer it, Your Excellency, a private room will be free directly: Prince Golitsin with a lady. Fresh oysters have come in.”
“Ah, oysters!” Stepan Arkadyevich became thoughtful.
“How if we were to change our program, Levin?” he said, keeping his finger on the bill of fare. And his face expressed serious hesitation. “Are the oysters good? Mind, now!”
“They’re Flensburg, Your Excellency. We’ve no Ostend.”
“Flensburg will do — but are they fresh?”
“Only arrived yesterday.”
“Well, then, how if we were to begin with oysters, and so change the whole program? Eh?”
“It’s all the same to me. I should like cabbage soup and porridge better than anything; but of course there’s nothing like that here.”
“Porridge a la Russe, Your Honor would like?” said the Tatar, bending down to Levin, like a nurse speaking to a child.
“No, joking apart, whatever you choose is sure to be good. I’ve been skating, and I’m hungry. And don’t imagine,” he added, detecting a look of dissatisfaction on Oblonsky’s face, “that I shan’t appreciate your choice. I don’t object to a good dinner.”
“I should hope so! After all, it’s one of the pleasures of life,” said Stepan Arkadyevich. “Well, then, my friend, you give us two — or better say three-dozen oysters, clear soup with vegetables…”
“Printaniere,” prompted the Tatar. But Stepan Arkadyevich apparently did not care to allow him the satisfaction of giving the French names of the dishes.
“With vegetables in it, you know. Then turbot with thick sauce, then… roast beef; and mind it’s good. Yes, and capons, perhaps, and then stewed fruit.”
The Tatar, recollecting that it was Stepan Arkadyevich’s way not to call the dishes by the names in the French bill of fare, did not repeat them after him, but could not resist rehearsing the whole menu to himself according to the bill: “Soupe printaniere, turbot sauce Beaumarchais, poulard a l’estragon, Macedoine de fruits…” and then instantly, as though worked by springs, laying down one bound bill of fare, he took up another, the list of wines, and submitted it to Stepan Arkadyevich.
“What shall we drink?”
“What you like, only not too much. Champagne,” said Levin.
“What! to start with? You’re right though, I dare say. Do you like the white seal?”
“Cachet blanc,” prompted the Tatar.
“Very well, then, give us that brand with the oysters, and then we’ll see.”
“Yes, sir. And what table wine?”
“You can give us Nuits. Oh, no — better the classic Chablis.”
“Yes, sir. And your cheese, Your Excellency?”
“Oh, yes, Parmesan. Or would you like another?”
“No, it’s all the same to me,” said Levin, unable to suppress a smile.”“