” “But what did father imagine?” “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I asked. Giles's round-house. 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. He has a way of sitting on people.
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