Kitty Conover ate in the kitchen.

First off, this statement is likely to create the false impression that there was an ordinary grain here, a wedge of base hemlock in the citron.

Not so.

She ate in the kitchen because she could not yet face that vacant chair in the dining room without choking and losing her appetite.

She could not look at the chair without visualizing that glorious, whimsical, fascinating mother of hers, who could turn grumpy janitors into comedians and send importunate bill collectors away with nothing but spangles in their heads.
So long as she stayed out of the dining room she could accept her loneliness with sound philosophy.