Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. . There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. I’ve told you that practically already. 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. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him.
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