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. When he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found Sir Rowland standing by the lifeless body of his sister. The world, perhaps, will be educated out of its idea of fixed standards.
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