“We don’t let to ladies,” they said. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. Michelle looked her up and down, liking the results of her efforts. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. You're welcome to it. His name is John.
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