Marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. "What has happened?" asked Sister Prudence. He resented being regarded as irregular. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. 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.
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