He still watched her and questioned her. They hunted up shady nooks and went to sleep; but promptly at four they would be at the office, ready for barter. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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