Only one thing ever fully aroused the widow Broadnax; and
this was to see her half-sister taking authority in her own brother's
house. And indeed, that were enough to rouse the veriest mollusk of a
woman. In the case of the widow Broadnax this natural feeling was not at
all affected by the fact that she was too indolent to make the exertion
to claim and fill her rightful place as mistress of the house. It did
not matter in the least that she lay and slept like a sloth while poor
little Miss Penelope was up and working like a beaver. No woman's claims
ever have anything to do with her deserts; perhaps no man's ever have
either; perhaps all who claim most deserve least. At all events, it was
perfectly natural that the widow Broadnax should feel as truly and
deeply aggrieved at her half-sister's ruling her own brother's house, as
if she, herself, had been the most energetic and capable of
housekeepers.
On that morning her dull eyes kept an unwavering, unwinking watch over
the coffee making; as they always did over every encroachment upon her
rights. Her heavy eyelids were only partially lifted, yet not a movement
of Miss Penelope's restless little body, not a gesture of her nervous
little hands was allowed to escape.
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