"How do I look, Mama?" Maggie says, showing just enough of her thin body enveloped in pink skirt and red blouse for
me to know she's there, almost hidden by the door.
"Come out into the yard," I say.
Have you ever seen a lame animal, perhaps a dog run over
by some careless person rich enough to own a car, sidle up
to someone who is ignorant enough to be kind to him?
That is the way my Maggie walks. She has been like this,
chin on chest, eyes on ground, feet in shuffle, ever since
the fire that burned the other house to the ground.
Which statement best analyzes how Maggie sees herself?