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. It always comes out sooner or later. She had to explain about and pay off that forty pounds. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. The great heart of the world beats only where men and women are gathered together. ‘But there is something still I do not understand.
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