“You wouldn’t. Just then—I was nervous. 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. You did not learn that in a convent. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. good at that. Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the stage. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. Mere hangers on. You’re never going to believe this, by the way. ” She lifted steadfast eyes to him. ’ The snaking suspicion rolled through his mind again.
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