Jean Francois Millet Spring

Jean Francois Millet SpringJean Francois Millet Man with a hoeThomas Gainsborough Mrs Sheridan
That's it," he said, watching. "With the red handle. Bring it here."
He pierced the lid and showed her how to open the can.
"Now get that little saucepan off the hook and tip them in," he told her.
She sniffed the beans, and again an expression of pleasure and suspicion entered her eyes. She tipped the can into the saucepanWhen the omelette was cooked he folded it over and cut it in half
and licked a finger, watching as Will shook salt and pepper into the eggs and cut a knob of butter from a package in the fridge into a cast-iron pan. He went into the bar to find some matches, and when he came back she was dipping her dirty finger in the bowl of beaten eggs and licking it greedily. Her daemon, a cat again, was dipping his paw in it, too, but he backed away when Will came near."It's not cooked yet," Will said, taking it away. "When did you last have a meal?""At my father's house on Svalbard," she said. "Days and days ago. I don't know. I found bread and stuff here and ate that."He lit the gas, melted the butter, poured in the eggs, and let them run all over the base of it. Her eyes followed everything greedily, watching him pull the eggs up into soft ridges in the center as they cooked and tilt the pan to let raw egg flow into the space. She watched him, too, looking at his face and his working hands and his bare shoulders and his feet.