” He crossed himself and grinned. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. 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. “Forgive you, indeed. She found an old drunk wandering the streets. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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