A woman who is a gloomy house like a grave, with a suspicious, sneaky, petty husband, mistress only, feels suffocated in her mind every notion of her right and in her heart every spontaneity, can not die, flee even when she must leave there a child who, without her, with his father, in that funeral home, will be lacking in affection and example and will inevitably have to forget and doubt of his distant mother? Sibilla, a brand new name in our female literature, says yes in a book that has a simple title: A woman. And he says it with head held high, and certain pages are so sincere and painful that he seems to hear that woman invented by you speak with a shudder in your voice, with the last doubt in your eyes and stare at you with the hope of finding your consent, not your sentence.
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Through my books I manage to express my disappointment that women accept, they neglect their ideals and respect from men who look like men and from the fie are monsters, unfortunately, this battle is long and difficult but we all win together.