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. Ask your own conscience. You know the sort of thing. Look out, it’s coming. Permit me to introduce myself. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels.
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