"To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. 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. CHAPTER XIII. Very dark, like yours, ma’am.
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