There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. 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. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. "Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat.
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