Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. “Oh, please. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. “How will you live?” she appealed. It was a brief solitude, however. 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. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’ ‘Yes, yes.
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