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. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. “A very clear statement, madam,” he said. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet. “How can you know?” “I think—perhaps I am rather a cold-blooded person. He remembered also, all at once, the very first words he had heard her speak: “I was not born to this.
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