“If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. 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. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. Which are you—Valade or Charvill? Or, no, let me guess.
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