“Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. To begin with, he struck her as being the most variable person she had ever encountered. ” Lucy spat. 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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