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The lights were burning bright at Fox Run Manor.
“Reg, the beef Wellington was superb.”
“Thank you, Noah. More claret?”
“Please. Excellent vintage that. Nutmeg and a slight hint of
strawberry.”
“Indeed. Speaking of strawberries, Noah, did you know that
the commercial strawberry, Fragaria ananassa, is the worst fruit you
could ever possibly eat?”
"Really, Reg? Do tell?”
“Nothing to it, really. When growing strawberries, the
farmer, poor sod, must protect his investment by employing a veritable
Nile of pesticide to kill all those nasty little leaf-eating bugs.”
“And they are nasty, Reg. Despicable little brutes,they are.”
“I'll say. But hear me out. This self-same field hand must
also employ untold gallons of fungicide to kill off any and all
root-borne fungi.”
“Good Lord. A veritable chemical cocktail!”
“Ah, but it gets better. Both pesticide and fungicide,you
see, are carcinogenic beyond all belief. Believe you me, a strawberry
will kill you dead.”
“I raise my glass to you, Reg. Truly, you are a fount of
knowledge.”
“Thank you, Noah. Now for dessert. I have a divine pear tart
with a wonderful brandy sauce over vanilla ice cream or strawberry
shortcake.”
"Oh, I just love a good pear tart. But it's strawberries for
me, Reg."
“Excellent choice. Jenkins? We’ll both have the strawberry
shortcake for our dessert.”
“Yes, me Lord.”
“More claret, Noah?”
“Rather.”
“Now where was I?"
“A strawberry will kill you dead.”
“Right. Now about the spinach in the salad you just ate.”
“Good God, Reg. Do tell?”
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