The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe. Since the discovery of them, she had been madly eager to read these typewritten tales. “Guineas, of course,” Mr. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. ” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. “Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began. She entered the kitchen. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued.
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