Ann Veronica halted a pace, and Miss Klegg came alongside. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. ” Lucy commented. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself. I know nothing about this affair, but some one has been burning documents. 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. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats.
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