“Heavens!” she exclaimed. An unwelcome idea came to him. 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. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. Heliers. After all, it is not long since that a Catholic nun in this country would have had to remain in hiding.
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