She gets in a tiz of tears, a flurry of wails, a tirade of skirt pulling and leg clutching if we go anywhere near him. We have to cross the road or she yells as if torture is being committed.
But then, when we're safely on the other side she looks over almost fondly at him, says that she thinks he seems sad. If he's still shut inside the cafe she appears disappointed,drags her feet, peers to see inside the window.
I've known men that get me like that. And I still give some of them a wide berth too.