Rhea laughed and lunged for the broadsword that Sebastian had carelessly left lying on the ground. Her heart thudded. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. 2. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay.
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