He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. Her name was Rhea. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. Everything. I suppose you came right out and asked him about his family?’ ‘Nothing of the sort. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. 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 drew a breath, and sighed it out. I couldn’t help the thought.
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