” Ann Veronica agreed, and tried to make the manner of her assent cover a possible knowledge of a probable poem. 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. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air. His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. She held out both her hands.
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