Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. ” She said. 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. . The next hour makes, or mars you for ever. ” “But why?” “He’s married—and, I believe, living separated from his wife. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain.
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