” “Then there is also,” Anna remarked, “a Montague Hill who is very much alive. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. “But, forgive me, you are tired. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. 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. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. . “Want to see the upstairs?” “Sure. .
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