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. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. Voting wouldn’t do no ‘arm to ‘er. "I don't know what his idea was.
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