If I witness an army of women in housedresses occupying town squares or breaking shopwindows with their rolling pins, I will know I was wrong, and I’ll be amused to have been wrong, but those are scenes I have yet to see. Which is not to say I sympathize with angry women breaking shopwindows. I do what I’m hired to. And yet, who knows, maybe I, too, could smash a big window with a rolling pin, were I a housewife tasked with using such kitchen equipment. But I’m not a housewife, or an Orthodox subordinate in industrial pantyhose and a communal wig. And if I’m going to smash something, I’ll use
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