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. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. Presently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his own age. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York.
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