“Come this way,” he said. 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. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature.
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