“You are beautiful, Lucy. ” Ann Veronica listened with her eyes on the fire. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. 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. There were two. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature.
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