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 started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. Manning’s handwriting, and opened his letter and read some lines before its import appeared. Perhaps it was loneliness. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about.
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