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. One transgression; he was sure of that. The watch was again consulted. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica.
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