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Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. 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. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. "Get a chair, Austin. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied.

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This video was uploaded to lewoagencies.com on 12-07-2024 21:08:00

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