She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. "Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself. 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. But I don’t want to.
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