His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief. An old woman took her in. It's a sorry world," he went on. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. Talked about his years, his position and his constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin. 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.
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