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. He tipped the platter so that tender,
crumbly bits of chicken rolled onto Gisella's plate, and then added a
helping of bean stuffing. Tas sat back to enjoy his own meal.
Woodrow ate his share in silence, watching his employer.
Gisella's hands were a flurry of activity, and her mouth never stopped
chewing. Before Woodrow had eaten more than two bites, Gisella was
finished with, hers. She sat with her arms clutched tightly about her
waist, holding her wrap closed, her eyes the half-closed slits of a
sleeping cat.
Woodrow had not met many women, and had come to know only a few
of them, but he felt that Gisella Hornslager was not typical of her
sex. She had her own rules about everything, and she seemed to care
not one whit what anyone thought of her. She had a voracious appetite
for food, among other things. He blushed, remembering the sound of her
"trading" with men these last weeks. He'd tried not to listen to the
grunts and groans coming through the wagon's windows, but it was
impossible since on those occasions she posted him right outside as
watchman. Afterward, she seemed not the least ashamed to face him and,
in fact, seemed to delight in bringing a flood of red to his cheeks
with some earthy remark.
She was afraid of nothing -- except the possibility that
something she wanted could not be bought. Woodrow concluded that,
although he strongly disagreed with her freewheeling lifestyle, he
respected her for having the courage of her convictions.
"What are you staring at?" she demanded suddenly, her eyes wide
open
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