She looked around the apartment for other people. I fought. But the first one was brought home, and it was the beginning of the end. M. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. 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.
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