Miss Lizzie smelled of Lisa’s lunch and stopped the line.
“Open it,” said Miss Lizzie.
Lisa rested it on the edge of the platform and untied it. The unpleasantness wafted heavily. There was sausage and dark gray bread and cheese. It was the cheese that was unpleasant.
Miss Lizzie’s nose, which bent slightly toward her cheek, had a way of dilating. It dilated now.
“Go open the stove door,” said Miss Lizzie.
Lisa went and opened the stove door.
“Now, take it and put it in,” said Miss Lizzie.
Lisa took her lunch and put it in. Her round, soap-scoured little cheeks had turned a mottled red. When she got back to her seat, Lisa’s head went down on her arm on the desk, and presently even her yellow plaits shook with the convulsiveness of her sobs.
It wasn’t the loss of the sausage or the bread or the cheese. Emmy Lou was a big girl now, and she knew.
Emmy Lou went home. It was at the dinner table.