A lucky escape. 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 sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. I can vouch for that. Of course, girls repeat phrases and opinions of which they cannot possibly understand the meaning. ” “Well,” Mrs. You are not a coward David, and you must not talk like one.
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