Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. ” He looked at her pleadingly. 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. The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. I know who she is, and I know that she has been cheated somehow by the people calling themselves Valade.
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