The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. Beneath that tree let us lie. 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. "Only Jack's two wives—Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot," replied Austin, laughing. I was certain of it.
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