“I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. "Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. Hers is quite the most exclusive set in London. “They might do you good,” she remarked. 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 had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace.
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