’ About to hurry from the little parlour, Melusine remembered Mrs Ibstock. 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. From the unlovely hillside his glance strayed to the several five-story towers of the pawnshops. “Please go and see that—nothing happens,” she pleaded. "Her ladyship—" faltered the attendant. org/2/6/5/9/26596/ Produced by D. Here it is.
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