In the noir masterpiece, The Woman in the Window, a middle-aged associate professor of psychology and a beautiful ... well, she's a courtesan, who have just met, converse over drinks at a local nightclub. The woman asks the man if he would care to take her home, so that he might view (in a variation on etchings) an artist's sketches of her. When the man shows reluctance, the woman, flirtatiously, incredulously and mock-innocently, asks "You mean you're afraid? Of me?"
See the scene (plus a little more at either end)
Are we not more often plagued by fear of those things and people with which we desire contact (of one kind or another) than those with which we do not?
Are we not more often plagued by fear of those things and people with which we desire contact (of one kind or another) than those with which we do not?
