“Poverty is terrible.”
“No, it’s wonderful; it keeps people human. But here there is no poverty; the people earn their living.”
“Such as it is.” He looked around the room. There was a cot in an alcove, a few chairs, a table, a shelf of books, and she smiling at him.
“You’re not feeling well, Mr. Garrison.”
“Oh! I’m well enough, but the springs are giving way.”
“We must brace them up.”
“Impossible, they are broken.”
“Then we’ll have to get you new springs.”
How young she was, how happy, and the bare room; here was—no ego that wants and wants—always taking, never giving—no expectations, no disappointment; Selflessness—that’s what kept her so buoyant.
“Can I help you?”