It was not yet seven in the evening, and she looked very unimportant: sleepy, tortured and tired. At the table, she idly picked at her plate, dejectedly drawing sauce patterns with a pricked piece of meat. He had to stoop to threats, promising that if she did not eat at least half the portion, he would feed her with his own hands, like a small child. In the end, she reluctantly agreed, and she managed to stuff a couple of pieces of meat, bread and a few slices of vegetables into herself.

- I won't do it again, it's very tasty, really. But I went to bed or I will...