An outsider would have difficulty fathoming such an emotion, or how such a person viewed the world, and her husband’s and children’s place in that world.
Arlon, however, knew his wife’s moods all too well, but accepted them with a sort of tired resignation, and with an habitual avertedness of attention, that, if one who did not know him well, might think of as distraction.
He had known Durus since she was a young, beautiful Elf-maiden, had courted her, had married her, and at first had thought himself the luckiest man alive.
But he had paid little, if any, attention to her home life, and to her parents. They were of a hard-working, humourless cast; there was no joy or laughter in that household. They seemed glad enough to be rid of the burden of their only daughter; her father was forever talking about the virtues of having sons, and her mother seemed to share this sentiment; though Durus worked hard (far too hard, he had thought at the time, as though she were trying to make up for the lack of her sex), her efforts were forever belittled. The last time Arlon had spoken to Durus’s parents was when they, sour-faced and with very poor grace, provided the most meagre, one might say spiteful dowry. Arlon thought in his heart that he was rescuing this poor waif from an ill-deserved fate.