It was now evident that he had not been normal that first day. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. 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. She had been careless. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. They were looking for a guide. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark.
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