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. If Thames Darrell escapes, you will lose both life and property. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. ‘You’d do the same. I cannot go on.
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