He knocked on the doorframe. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. . 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. . “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. No doubt that was due to his helplessness.
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