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Sunday brunch at ten. They puff up in the oven and fall the moment they hit the table.
Two pans on the stove and plenty of bread for mopping. Coffee until it runs out.
The good teacups are coming out of the cabinet for her.
A dozen from the corner shop and a pound of lox. You bring the hot takes.
Fresh-squeezed until one, and the waffle iron is already hot.
