An omelet arrives. She positions her face over its steam. "may I please have a fork?"
The old woman laughs: a laugh Marie-Laure warms to immediately. In an instant a fork is fitted into her hand.
The eggs taste like clouds. Like spun gold. Madame Manec says, "I think she likes it," and laughs again.
A second omelet soon appears. Now it is her father who eats quickly.
"How about peaches, dear?" murmurs Madame Manec, and Marie-Laure can hear a can opening, juice slopping into a bowl. Seconds later, she's eating wedges of wet sunlight."