Lunch was the seasonal dining hall item Liam had been anticipating — some kind of preserved fruit pastry that appeared, according to Liam's extensive research into the dining hall's rotation, only during a specific three-week window each autumn and was, in his assessment, worth the wait.
It was good. William ate two and understood the anticipation.
The table was full — the expanded group's Saturday session had apparently created enough shared momentum that most of them ended up at the same set of tables, which had been pushed together in the specific informal way that dining halls accommodated groups that grew faster than the furniture anticipated.
