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. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. She turned quickly. “It is just a look. “None, I thank you,” he answered. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says.
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