“Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. You give her a daub here and there where the rust shows. Before very long I hope to have definite work. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. “How shall I get my luggage out of the house?.
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