Question

Miss Evelyn Harlow lived at the edge of the parish, her tall, shuttered house as closed to the community as her purse. When the rector came calling for the winter coal fund, she received him in a drafty parlor, her posture rigid, her voice clipping his appeals short with a refusal that left no room for negotiation. "The poor must learn the value of industry," she declared, adjusting a heavy wool shawl around her shoulders. Yet, when the heavy oak door closed behind the rector, Evelyn did not return to her ledger of investments. Instead, she sat by the dying fire, her hands trembling as she pulled a bundle of raw fleece from a basket. Throughout the night, her fingers, stiffened by early frost and age, spun the wool into soft, thick skeins. By dawn, she had knitted a pair of sturdy mittens, identical to the dozen pairs already packed into an unmarked crate in her larder. When her maid asked whom they were for, Evelyn snapped, "They are for the market, girl; do not pry." Yet, the following evening, the crate was gone, left quietly on the doorstep of the parish orphanage without a name or note attached.

Miss Harlow's refusal to donate to the rector's winter fund, contrasted with her secret preparation of hand-knitted items for the orphanage, primarily serves to do which of the following?