She was a dull-looking country girl. Her chapped cheeks had a slightly unpleasant, ruddy glow as though she had been rubbing them with her hands. In her lap lay a large bundle. Her coarse, cold hands, clamped tightly over it, clutched a third-class ticket as though it were her last link with life itself. Her coarse features and her clothes, lacking in taste, didn't appeal to me. She was apparently stupid as well couldn't tell a second from a third-class coach.