One cannot trust any man at all. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Either Sydney or Mr. 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. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. So far the boy's mind was clear.
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