Keep her from what? A severe case of wanderlust? Did she stay overlong chatting with the old woman in the shoe? Have one too many drinks with the Crooked Man? Dance past bedtime on the far shores with Owl and Pussycat?
I always felt for her. Relegated to pacing sticky floors, peering out into a world framed by the same set of curtains. Was she allowed into the yard? Could she tend her garden? Her geese? I mean, she had to eat, right? Or did her absentee husband make gracious periodic visits? Maybe he brought her morsels. Curds and whey or leftover blackbird pie. Or did she have no interactions other than the brief glimpse of a passing piggy or dog or candlestick maker?
Or perhaps I'm being too forgiving of someone who was really just the Hester Prynne of Nurseryland.
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