. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak. “What do you think of that?” he asked. ’ ‘It’s not that,’ the nun said urgently, ‘but I’ve remembered something important. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. It fits your style. 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.
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