Accepting his glass from the butler, Gerald glanced at Mrs Sindlesham and saw a dimple peep out. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. 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. “It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived. Better even than these. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard.
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