” “How long had he been in the hospital?” Courtlaw asked. 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. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere.
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