Quintessa couldn’t help but burst into laughter at Mrs. York’s words.
Mrs. York patted her and said, “What are you laughing at? That old bat is scheming. If you ever run into her when I’m not around, don’t you be polite. You give her the cold shoulder. Let me tell you, anyone who marries her son is doomed.”
Mrs. York’s words carried deep meaning. She seized every opportunity to drill into Quintessa’s head just how bad the Harringtons were.
Tyrone gave Mrs. York a thumbs up from the sidelines. This little old lady was truly putting the wisdom she had accumulated over decades of uselessness to good use today.
Quintessa nodded in agreement, “Hmm, I’ll remember that.”
It was her first time in such a setting, and though she didn’t say much, there was something incredibly comforting about being protected like this—it was addictively pleasant.
Tyrone asked, “Mom, does she still pick on you all the time?”
Mrs. York shrugged. “It’s still about those old things from years ago. Let’s not talk about it. Just thinking about it makes me annoyed. She’s always trying to one-up me in everything. At this age, what’s the point? How many years does she even have left?”
Mrs. York had an easygoing nature, not one to be sharp or competitive. She was simple and usually didn’t like to nitpick, which led many in the socialite circle to underestimate her intelligence!
Tyrone chuckled, “I bet you’ll outlive her, no doubt.”
Mrs. York lifted her chin proudly, “That’s for sure. She’s always calculating this and that all day long. Frankly, with her looks, she’s naturally destined to have a hard life. She’ll definitely kick the bucket before me. Oh, by the way, do you know what she was planning today?”
“What was it?”
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