Mrs. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. Suppose he stopped all her allowance, made it imperative that she should either stay ineffectually resentful at home or earn a living for herself at once. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. “How are you feeling?” She asked.
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