I opened my swollen eyes and saw in front of me a pair of large, calloused feet; my gaze, lifted to the swollen
legs, the age-distorted body clad in a tight cotton nightdress, and then the shadowed Indian face surrounded
by stubby white hair. And there was no rage in the face now, now that the garden was destroyed and there
was nothing any longer to be protected.
"M-miss Lottie!" I scrambled to my feet and just stood there and stared at her, and that was the moment when
childhood faded and womanhood began. That violent, crazy act was the last act of childhood. For as I gazed
at the immobile face with the sad, weary eyes, I gazed upon a kind of reality which is hidden to childhood.
The witch was no longer a witch but only a broken old woman who had dared to create beauty in the midst of
ugliness and sterility. She had been born in squalor and lived in it all her life. Now at the end of that life she
had nothing except a falling down hut, a wrecked body, and John Burke, the mindless son of her passion.
Whatever verve there was left in her, whatever was of love and beauty and joy that had not been squeezed
out by life, had been there in the marigolds she had so tenderly cared for.

What type of irony is most evident in Miss Lottie's reaction?
O dramatic irony
O situational irony
O verbal irony
O none of the above