I decided to go in and wait. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping. 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. . ’ Melusine gave it up. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. ‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others.
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