She opened and read it at once. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day. 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. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber. ” Lucy blinked from the winter sunlight and reached behind herself to yank at her hood.
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