The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. There was more shouting. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. "That's scarcely a fair question, Mr. ‘It must seem strange to you at first. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. 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.
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