More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. 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. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. "All good people pray heartily unto God for this poor sinner, who is now going to take his death, for whom this great bell doth toll. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice.
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