She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. You are right. 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. Wood," observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously.
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