I could never make you understand. 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 door was then locked, and he was left alone. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. CHAPTER I. They’re all wonderful cooks.
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