Dozens of ladies, he said, wrote stories for him for nothing.

It didn't matter what the stories were.

Anything would do for his readers, so long as the characters were lords and ladies, and there was plenty of love in it.
My next attempt to get away from the school ended in another disappointment.

A poor old man, who had once been an actor, used to come to us twice a week, and get a few shillings by teaching the girls to read aloud.

He was called 'Professor of English Literature,' and he taught out of a ragged book of verses which smelled of his pipe.