Her mother, since she could remember, had been an
invalid, rarely leaving her bedroom till the afternoon. Her father, the
owner of large engineering works, she only saw, as a rule, at
dinner-time, when she would come down to dessert. It had been different
when she was very young, before her mother had been taken ill. Then she
had been more with them both. She had dim recollections of her father
playing with her, pretending to be a bear and growling at her from behind
the sofa. And then he would seize and hug her and they would both laugh,
while he tossed her into the air and caught her. He had looked so big
and handsome. All through her childhood there had been the desire to
recreate those days, to spring into the air and catch her arms about his
neck. She could have loved him dearly if he had only let her. Once,
seeking explanation, she had opened her heart a little to Mrs. Munday. It
was disappointment, Mrs. Munday thought, that she had not been a boy; and
with that Joan had to content herself. Maybe also her mother's illness
had helped to sadden him.
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