IT is not much of a street to look at—just the average narrow, crowded London street. But for the signs of the world's newspapers sticking out from its façades you could not distinguish it from a street given over to diamond‐dealing or chartered accountancy. (Most of the really big newspaper offices, as it happens, are not in Fleet Street proper, but in one or other of its mean tributaries). Nor are its pavements crowded with long‐haired, blue‐jawed men wearing black sombreros. Save for an occasional silk‐hatted bank messenger or a barrister from the Law Courts hurrying out for a quick poached egg in Groom's, his white ties fluttering, its floating population appears to be very much the same as that of St. Martin's Lane or Whitehall. Its only definite characteristic is that it is predominantly male.
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