" "A terrible dream, indeed," said Jonathan thoughtfully. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her. ‘I’m following a scent. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women.
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