I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. “In five minutes I shall be ready. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing.
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