After dressing she got up from the chair and walked over to the
chuck-box, smiling as she noted the bulging sides; her eyes glowing with
satisfaction when she lifted the lid and saw the well-filled interior.
She paused before the shelf upon which reposed a supply of canned foods;
and exclaimed with delight when she saw, affixed to the wall near the
door, a piece of broken mirror. She spent some time looking into the
glass, combing her hair with a fragment of comb she found on a shelf
beside the mirror.
She had finished when she heard a knock on the door. She removed the
bar, and when Lawler stepped in, closing the door instantly to keep out
the rush of wind, she was standing in a corner, smiling demurely at him.
His face was grave, and he did not respond to her mood as he stood
there, watching her.
"Well," she said, after a silence, during which his face did not change
expression; "can't you say something complimentary?" She lifted her eyes
challengingly, as though to invite his inspection.
He saw that the tragedy had not affected her as it would have affected
some women--his mother and Ruth Hamlin, for example--though he veiled
the reproof in his eyes with a smile. The vanity she exhibited, her
self-interest, egotism disgusted him.
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