1 The young man ascended to his mother's room.
2 He was shy, and would not willingly face any woman except his mother.
3 In the lulls, Robert and his mother exchanged bits of desultory conversation.
4 He was spending his summer vacation, as he always did, with his mother at Grand Isle.
5 Edna experienced a pang of jealousy because he had written to his mother rather than to her.
6 Several persons were talking at once, and Victor's voice was predominating, even over that of his mother.
7 She had not seen him during the afternoon; she had heard some one say he was at the house, upstairs with his mother.
8 He turned to answer some question put to him by his mother, and Edna, having finished her black coffee, left the table.
9 The youngest boy, Etienne, had been very naughty, Madame Ratignolle said, as she delivered him into the hands of his mother.
10 He was a dark-browed, good-looking youngster of nineteen, greatly resembling his mother, but with ten times her impetuosity.
11 The mother played her accompaniments and at the same time watched her daughter with greedy admiration and nervous apprehension.
12 She left them in heated argument, speculating about the conclusion of the tale which their mother promised to finish the following night.
13 Robert was interested, and wanted to know what manner of girls the sisters were, what the father was like, and how long the mother had been dead.
14 Victor laughed sardonically as he thanked his mother for her holy wish, of which he failed to see the benefit to anybody, except that it might afford her a more ample opportunity and license to talk herself.
15 There was no special message to Edna except a postscript saying that if Mrs. Pontellier desired to finish the book which he had been reading to her, his mother would find it in his room, among other books there on the table.
16 Her older sister, Margaret, was matronly and dignified, probably from having assumed matronly and housewifely responsibilities too early in life, their mother having died when they were quite young, Margaret was not effusive; she was practical.
17 If one of the little Pontellier boys took a tumble whilst at play, he was not apt to rush crying to his mother's arms for comfort; he would more likely pick himself up, wipe the water out of his eyes and the sand out of his mouth, and go on playing.
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