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. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. behind the Laundromat. “No, stay, Lucy. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. . Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled.
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