Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome.
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