At the dining table, she lifted one leg up and purposefully put it on her chair. She smacked her lips as she ate, and every time she tried to take a portion from a dish, she would purposefully inch closer to Mrs. West, or she would stand up and reach out to do it. She committed every single dining table faux pas that elite families hated. She even pulled a silly smile out of pretense, and observed Mrs. West’s face.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. West’s entire face turned black. She slammed her cutlery onto the dining table. Tiffany jumped in fright and became too afraid to do anything more. She obediently slid her leg back down.
“Jackson West, you’re not dead. In fact, you’re still breathing. Can’t you help Tiffie get a portion of the dishes? Has your height gone to waste? Can’t you see that she isn’t tall enough to reach?”
Tiffany was dumbfounded.
“Yes, I’ll remember that.” Jackson replied, “You can concentrate on your meal, and I’ll take care of her. Will that do?”
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