"There was nobody in the kitchen. A glorious pheasant lay unplucked on the table. Dark alcoves yawned back into the walls. High, huge, and Gothic, a framed text hung above the loaded dresser,
I AM THE BREAD OF LIFE. The capital letters were blue and red and gold, under years of smoke and dust and grease. I put my hand on the pheasant's breast, a stone under the fiery feathers. I looked out of the windows to the stars. Tomorrow there would be a letter for me. Or perhaps not. He was moving round Africa. He had never had my letter about Papa. I saw a native running to nowhere with my letter in the cleft of a forked stick, or it might be his letter to me. The idea cheered me."
Good Behaviour Molly Keane