Indeed, if he had been ignorant of it, the sound of voices which he could faintly distinguish, would have served as a caution to him. 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. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. “I saw you go into that place, and I have been waiting for you ever since. . . "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder.
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