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 leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. You are necessary to me. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek.
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