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. But after Singapore she found herself enduing them with the characteristics of the heroes in the novels she had just read for the first time. You must tell me what it all means. ‘Grace à dieu, he breathes still.
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