The soup was hot.

The salad was crisp and the ice cream hard.

There was sponge cake, thick, light, with sugar freckles on the dark crust.

The coffee was perfect and almost burned the tongue.
"I don't understand about the heat and cold," she said; and they showed her the asbestos-lined compartments and perfectly fitting places for each dish and plate.

Everything went back out of sight; small leavings in a special drawer, knives and forks held firmly by rubber fittings, nothing that shook or rattled.