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. He shook his head. “He can’t be more than thirty. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. Most of them didn’t, anyhow. CHAPTER VII.
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