There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. This is my friend, Mr. She would write to Gerald. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. I sha'n't utter a word. ‘It needs not that you tell me.
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