I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. 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. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically.
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