It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. I had a hard fight to begin with to win my way into the Upper Division—I was third on a list of fortyseven—and since then I have found myself promoted almost yearly in a widening sphere of social service. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. " "Why not?" rejoined Mrs. \"Josh Durkin?\" Lucy whispered loudly.
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