In a Manhattan subway train, last week, some telephone girls sat together and giggled. They would bow their heads together over a newspaper, whisper for a moment, then fling themselves back, shaking and cackling, helpless with mirth. A man seated opposite eyed this performance. His face was at once sharp and bland; he had a wing collar, a bow tie, a blond mustache. Perhaps he knew that the girls were becoming hysterical because they had discovered in him a resemblance to the man whose picture appeared on the front page of their newspaper,...
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