And she knew that they talked about her. The old woman sat out on every fine day in her wheel-chair, peering down through the railings with nothing else to do, but watch. ‘I knew it,’ said the old woman. ‘There she goes again! Dipping a great hunk of bread into the curry sauce.’ ‘ “Tasting it,” ’ said her daughter, with a sneer. ‘Gobbling it,’ said the old woman. ‘Then she’ll sit down to her supper and eat a great dob of it on a mound of rice. No wonder she’s fat.’ She herself, long ailing, was very thin. ‘Fat!’ said the daughter. ‘She’s disgusting.’ She was not thin but slim. She ate sensibly, carefully, keeping herself slim. Her husband loved and admired her for her beautiful figure. ‘What can the husband think, married to such a mountain of flesh?’ Mrs. Jennings was not a mountain of flesh but she was over-weight and it was true that her husband found her unlovely in consequence. ‘Aren’t you having any curry?’ ‘No, I picked when I was cooking.
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