Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. ’ Melusine nodded. 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 an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. They fell in a diapason of smashes.
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