It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. A lucky escape. He winced from the wasp-like sting. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. 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. Kneebone?" "He'd better not," muttered Blueskin. ’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door.
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