The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. The three young men exchanged expressive glances. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. ‘And I trust you will pardon my inadequacies. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told. " Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park.
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