Chapter Text
“A picnic was a good idea, Anne-girl, but I have to ask—what am I about to eat?” Gilbert asked, his brow furrowed, the breeze off the dunes disordering his dark curls, reminding her of the boy he’d been before he’d become Young Dr. Blythe and her dearest Gil.
“Captain Jim brought over some fresh halibut and a bucket of soft-shell clams and I couldn’t let them go to waste, so I fried them and made a sort of salad with vinegar and celery, but they don’t make a very poetical sandwich, I’m afraid,” Anne said, evidently reassuring Gilbert enough so that he took a large bit of the fried fish poking out of the roll in his hand.
“Might not be poetical, but it tastes delicious and I think the company and the scenery are poetical enough for me,” he said.