The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. 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. Marvel, then, took two iron weights, each of a hundred pounds, and placed them in the press. “Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms.
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