” “My Mom complains that she’s tired all the time. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. "I'd forgotten. She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face.
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