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 procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. A pretty piece. "I must tell you," she was saying. She began to want to lay her head down on his chest but absolutely denied herself. .
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