Aunt Isobel must be about forty, quite thin with jet, JET black hair and too much lipstick, pink. She studied me as if I were in a fair and she was the judge. Then she looked at Daddy and Mother.
"Doesn't look any the worse for that asthma, I'll say that. A fine-looking girl you've raised, George. And you too, Mary, of course." She looked again at me. "Don't let that go to your head, girl," she said, just as clipped-off and abrupt, and she swung her face back to Mother and Daddy. "She'd never suffer from asthma in Denver! And certainly not where I live."
Denver? I suppose not… but how could we go to Denver? Is the work situation… for Daddy… any better out there? And what would we use for money to move? Aunt Isobel has some money, I know that. But that doesn't make it ours!
I don't know if I like her or not. She talks like she has springs on her jaws snapping them shut on each word.