“You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. Then her fingers moved. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. It would not have interested him in the least to learn that the tub ran on two powers—wind and oil. I knew it.
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