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. Her mother had prepared her for everything. “John?” He turned around in the recliner. A lovely, fetching girl. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. Wood to a seat within it, immediately pushed from land. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch.
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