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. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said. “I know nothing whatever of his friends or his home. ” “You’ll get them,” he said.
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