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. “Difficulties indeed. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. The buboes broke and God took Lucia's mother. Her thick body was heavy and massive.
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