She glanced into his face. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. He felt his orgasm explode into her as his mouth was filled with bitter, metallic blood. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. 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.
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