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. There was plenty of sweet water. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. Just my room. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before.
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