She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. She found next morning, when she came to this advertisement answering, that it was more difficult than she had supposed. 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. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. Brendon.
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