Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. 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. Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. One transgression; he was sure of that. He said. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. Even if she has to work two jobs to do it. “Well,” she admitted. You cannot care for her.
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