I'd go for it. She donned her gloves. I had nosebleeds that day and I got halfway up the rope before I fell off. At least for one moment, it was. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter.
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