At 6 AM Carmina Burana, our serf, tiptoes in with my tray. She is small, mute, and as usual radiant with contentment, which we love. I nod warmly but say nothing, and sit up to read the telex from my wife, Jane, saying that I should go ahead and breakfast without her, as she has a 9:00 lunch in town. Dipping an unsweetened madeleine into my coffee, I begin dictating my column, due later that hour, on the recent encyclical reaffirming the doctrine of isostasy (I approve). I eat only a small piece, since I have more to do this afternoon.
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