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. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. White said. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me.
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