" "Didn't the natives have a name for you?" She blushed. 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. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. “I’ve got bad faults. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will. “Cheer up, Annabel. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in London. She wanted to kiss his feet. And here's the proof.
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