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. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Through that she had to go. “Don’t know me, eh? I like that. ” “You and your father?” Lucy asked.
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