Summary
'F IDDLE faddle," said my friend the Philosopher, as his blue eyes gazed into the shapes emerging from the chocolate-speckled froth on the mug of coffee that he was stirring with a peculiarly melancholic rhythm.
I gazed up from the plate where flavoursome juices were spurting from the plump sausage that I had just stabbed with a single thrust of the fork, while contemplating the rest of my magnificent breakfast, spread on our table in the old bandstand of the marble cafe at the corner of the world's windiest street.See the full content of this document
Extract
'Fiddle Faddle,' Said My [ ... ]
"Fiddle faddle" seemed, on that brooding morning, to lack the precision that I had come to expect of an utterance from the Philosopher. "What else can you say," he said wearily, on spotting my b...
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