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. His voice had broken. "Still," went on the manager, "they are slaves in a sense; they are bought and sold until their original indebtedness is paid. Sheppard. We went our ways. ” “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better. " "Do so," replied Kneebone; "but remember the door is locked.
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