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. “Wonderful!” “I have always longed for prison service,” said a voice, “always. The night was now profoundly dark. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot.
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