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. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. ’ ‘Then what?’ demanded Lucilla in a hushed tone. It’s no good hiding it any more.
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