HAVE BREAKFAST, came the reply. ″Quite so,″ said the professor. ″That's another splendid idea.″
The table was laid in a flash. Whether or not it had been laid all the time and Momo simply hadn't noticed,
everything was in place: the two little cups, the pot of steaming chocolate, the honey, butter and crusty rolls.
Momo, whose mouth had often watered at the recollection of her first delicious, golden-hued breakfast at Nowhere House, tucked in at once.
Everything tasted even better than before, if possible, and this time the professor tucked in heartily too.
″Professor,″ Momo said after a while, with her cheeks still bulging,
″they want you to give them all the time that exists. You won't, though, will you?″
″No, child,″ he replied, ″that I'll never do. Time will come to an end some day, but not until people don't need it any longer.
The men in gray won't get any time from me - not even a split second.″
″But they say they can make you hand it over,″ Momo said.
″Before we go into that,″ the professor told her, very gravely, ″I'd like you to look at them for yourself.″
All she saw to begin with was the kaleidoscope of colours and shapes that had made her so dizzy the first time,
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