Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. It was a mad half-hour. He must win this man's confidence, even at the risk of being called mad. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. Just a friendly polite suggestion.
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