The Lord's Woods

"That night at dinner the family listened patiently to another account of the marvels of the woods and waterworks. My father held his water glass up to the light and admired the crystal liquid. 'You know, Eddie,' he said to my mother, 'we don't really appeciate this water. L'eau merveilleuse. Clean. Sweet. Soft. Always cool, even now. Bobby, you tell your friends at the waterworks they put out a very excellent vintage.' Pausing to sip, 'Not exactly a Chateau d'Yquem 1908, but better than the miserable Moselle we had last night. El hastisi to it,' with a wink, giving it his most awful arabic curse. Then, reflecting on that abomination of an outrage, Prohibition, and the dwindling stocks in the cellar—whose straw-filled boxes with the dusty bottles bearing the musical French names—he grumbled that no doubt some day soon he would be glad even to have the Moselle, acid as a spinster's kiss though it was."