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. There was something fatalistic about the letter H. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. I tried.
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