In the girl's eyes, Lyme rarely brought work home. As he put it, work should be dealt with at work, not brought home.
Home was where family stayed; it was also a private space. Work had no place here.
So she found it strange that Lyme had brought back so many materials today, but she said nothing. None of this had anything to do with her.
As long as her allowance kept coming, nothing else was a problem.
As for whether she and Lyme would encounter hostile looks when they went out together?
That would not happen. The clothes Lyme wore were worth a fortune, and he also carried a gold-plated Walking Stick inlaid with gemstones of every color.
With a thing like that thumping against the ground, who would dare laugh at him? In the Federation, you could curse the president as a spineless weakling who only knew how to hide behind a desk and cry, but you could not insult the rich.
Even if your tone was only slightly unpleasant, a court summons would promptly be placed considerately in an envelope and sent straight to your home.
Suing someone until they could no longer afford to wear pants—that was the deterrent power capitalists held over the lower classes.
That was also why many ordinary people could face officials, wave their fists, and spray spittle all over their faces, yet lower their heads uneasily before the great capitalists, just like the indigenous people of the Federation's homeland two hundred years ago.
The former needed the votes of the electorate. The people happened to be the source of those votes, and officials needed them to vote, so the people could do whatever they pleased without restraint.
But the latter controlled the most basic necessities of the people's lives. Losing them