There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. 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. " "My negligence, Mr. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. It was Annabel who caught at the paper. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. In that sense, my strategy worked.
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