I thought for the moment he was suggesting potted pigs' feet in the nearest English he could get to it.
"Pottito," he repeated; "boil pottito.

Yes?
And pell hell." I felt like telling him to go there; I suppose he meant "pale ale." It took me about five minutes to get that beefsteak out of his head.

By the time I had done it, I did not care what I had for dinner.

I took _pot-du- jour_ and veal.

He added, on his own initiative, a thing that looked like a poultice.