At least that, I think, is what makes a clever woman’s independent career so much more difficult than a clever man’s. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. ‘Who have lately joined us,’ she said, adding sotto voce, ‘A very great tragedy. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music.
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