The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. 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. Ann Veronica said nothing. The shock and distress were genuine. All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song.
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