It certainly had a queer taste; but, as to the substance to which it was indebted for its peculiar flavor, I was in total ignorance.

My husband insisted that it was soap.

I thought differently; but we made no argument on the subject.
The steak was found, on trial, to be burned so badly that it was not fit to be eaten.

And my husband had to make his meal of bread and butter and cold water.

As for myself, this spoiling of our breakfast for no good reason, completely destroyed both my appetite and my temper.
"You'd better get your dinner at an eating house, Mr.Smith," said I, as he arose from the table.