But Gerald kept to a casual note. 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's nice. And I want you for myself—for my wife. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. “I have found out at last what a useless person I am —from a utilitarian point of view.
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