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‘Dead then, is he?’ ‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction. 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. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. ” He said. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything.
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