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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. . Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. ’ Oh, do they? No kitchen service? No feeding of pigs? It was evident that this woman knew nothing of nuns, if a certain young lady’s artless reminiscences were anything to go by. ” “Impudent beggars,” Sydney growled. That is what my mother used to call me. CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. Like a petulant child he snapped. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space.
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