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. "That depends upon you. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. Listen, you. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself.
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