Jenny: Georgics

The Guttersnipe turned a leaf of boiled cabbage over on a knife and joined it to the side of meat. "The only virtue in food is whether it is edible or not. Food is virtually amoral, unless it has been poisoned."

She put the food in her mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed, watching Domitia peck at the food daintily as though she expected to be taken away and scolded at any moment. Poor timid soul. What she has and hasn't seen! She could remember with the vagueness of adulthood her child years, tussle under the trestle-tables with the others in an attempt to steal a bit of meat from a dog. Not for the sake of filling one's belly, but for the sake of triumph they had done it. And then nights when the sparks went up like her Lord Ambrosius' laughter into the dark night sky and the scent of boar roasting, boar which the men had brought in themselves...

The rabbit tasted suddenly bland for those memories.

"Domitia," she said presently, "have you ever read Virgil's Georgics? I had been meaning to, but I haven't had a chance yet. Have you?"