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. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. That is good. We will beg our bread and our shelter, and our passage on a boat. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch.
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