She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. She went next day to the schools, and her world seemed all made of happiness just worked up roughly into shapes and occasions and duties. Always! I don’t believe there is any strong natural affection at all between parents and growing-up children. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea.
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