Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. 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. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser.
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