Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said. 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. He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly.
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