You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. "You tried to do something that was fine, and … and civilization would not let you. E. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. 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.
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