" Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward. John eased off. I was raised in the Church. It was a mad half-hour. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. 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. “He writes very well,” said Ann Veronica.
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