’ That arrested her. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. Not since she had discovered it had Ruth touched or opened the mission Bible; but to-night (the same upon which the wonderful manuscripts started on their long and circuitous voyage to America) she was inexplicably drawn to it. ‘That’s right. I have never loved you. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. 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. "The key," replied the widow.
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