" "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. All the best novels have been written by women, and yet see how men sneer at the lady novelist still! There’s only one way to get on for a woman, and that is to please men. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth.
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