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. I don’t want to bother you, of course. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. “Yeah,” Shari nodded enthusiastically. I am not prying for my own amusement. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said.
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