She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. 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. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. "Come with me to the Castle. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct.
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