Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. 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. ‘All right, Trodger. Kneebone will excuse you.
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