I pity her from the bottom of my heart. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. "I didn't carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you. There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact. There is something inconglomerate about us. A riding-habit is all I have seen. 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. Relief flooded her. She was to be a Corsair’s Bride.
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