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| 图片取自 Book Depository.com |
When the cooking finally started, I watched the show from my corner of the old oak table, the best seat in the house. The kitchen, like an orchestra, was tuning for its greatest concert of the year. Kettles whistled high C, pestles drummed, pots and pans "percussed" with gusto, only to be hushed by a shower of poppy seeds falling into an enamel pot.
