And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. You have neither reason nor logic. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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