She saw him listen deferentially, but without understanding.

This killed her efforts at a finer intimacy, and she had flashes of fear.

Sometimes he was restless of an evening: it was not enough for him just to be near her, she realised.

She was glad when he set himself to little jobs.
He was a remarkably handy man--could make or mend anything.

So she would say: "I do like that coal-rake of your mother's--it is small and natty." "Does ter, my wench?
Well, I made that, so I can make thee one!" "What! why, it's a steel one!" "An' what if it is! Tha s'lt ha'e one very similar, if not exactly same." She did not mind the mess, nor the hammering and noise.