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 drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. He looked at her with a certain curiosity. So he made his dispositions and went off on some other fool’s errand. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. " "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. ‘I see well that I am dealing with you.
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