She doesn't correct his image, doesn't tell him what a miserable child Jason was and how mean he was to her, how he wouldn't make her a kite because she wanted a pink one. How she suspects he only made the kite and taught her to fly it as an adult because he was already a little bit in love with her without even knowing it. It's more important that Jason get money for his Tributes.

"I can't imagine what other cloth I'd be cut from." Swann takes another drink and finishes the glass of wine, though she sort of just idly holds it. "President Snow probably couldn't stop him either. Daddy thinks hard work is best thing a man can do."

Of course, her ideas of hard work and her image of President Snow are different than even many Capitolites'; no Honeymead has actually done labor in generations, but they've all attacked their careers with shark-like focus and intensity. And Swann knows Snow is the President, almost mythlike, but her mental image of him is frozen back when they were all younger, when his hair had color and he came to Honeymead holiday parties that her grandfather was still alive to attend. He gave her dolls, beautiful porcelain ones, and always hugged her, leaving her dress smelling like roses.

"I like working, anyway. When I didn't have a job, I just made things all day."