"Isn't this nice? Me seeing you again. You seeing me."

To be truthful, the way his eyes glazed and his teeth paused midway to tearing off another hunk of bread, it was plain the last thing he wanted to see this morning was her. It was hardly important. Flint was slippery, waiting only for the moment her back was turned. He must be. Otherwise he'd have made some insinuating remark about the rolls. He hadn't. The time had come to strike.

He tore another mouthful. "That ...