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. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. And for many years, that was the way it was. ’ ‘Then you will die at the hands of the canaille. I do not love you. “You shall go,” he declared. Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave.
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