The doctor had warned us of the seriousness of her
condition. She was pitifully afraid of death--it was the only thing
she was afraid of--and death might come at any time. To prevent
excitement there must be with her no discussion, and, as far as
possible, no opposition to her will.
"Your day and mine are very far apart." I made effort to speak
quietly. "Women no longer have to be adjuncts to men because they
don't know how to be anything else. They can stand up now by
themselves. Conditions have forced them to face life much more--"
"Face fiddlesticks!" Aunt Matilda's hands made an impatient gesture.
"Women have no business doing what many of them are doing today.
They are forgetting the place to which they were appointed by their
Creator. But even if you were at liberty to carry out your silly
ideas, what could you do? How could you earn your living? You play
well, paint a little, read books that do you no good, and hardly
enough of the new novels to discuss them. All this sociological
stuff, those scientific things I see in your room, are absurd for a
woman to bother with.
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