Morag was getting more pleasure out of that black pudding than a person really ought, she decided, but she still bristled slightly at Antonin's question. Fishing out a couple of olives, her face scrunched up. 'There's nothing strange about this assortment!' she protested. 'It was what I could find.... Minus the beets. I think they're off,' she told him. 'They didn't smell right. Gods, I thought I was going to lose it for a moment, it was so bad. We should throw them out.'