The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. 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. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before.
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