” “It is hard to be distant from your own mother. She did not wince. ” She fumbled with her keys and opened the front door. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. “Ssh!” said her mother, and then added, “A little natural feeling, dear. Wood the carpenter. —Strype's Stow.
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