I remember well how I used to agonise in explanation, trying to make her see our difficulties and to face them with me.

But when I had talked myself into helpless silence she would ruffle my hair and say, 'But you really do love me, don't you, Harry ?' or 'I don't care what we have to do, so long as mother doesn't know.' "I soon found out that her one strong emotion was fear of her mother.
She was fond of her but she feared her as weak natures fear the strong, especially when bound to them by ties of blood.

I was allowed to see her photograph--the picture of a grim hard face instinct with an almost terrible strength.

No wonder my pretty Molly was her slave.

One would have deemed it impossible that they were mother and daughter.