She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. “I want to show you something. When younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her. People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation. “John, don’t!” she cried. I can save you, and will. 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. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. . .
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