In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. “I wonder if there are any good women really. This—this shatters a world!” She tried to feel sorry, but her sense of his immense egotism was strong and clear. For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. "My invitation did not extend to them. She is something different. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR.
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