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 gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. The program was to include a Bach cantata, her favorite piece from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, and for the first time ever, a student composition, a Concerto, by a precociously talented fellow student named Martin Chen. “If I am to turn you into a vampire, she cannot know. Fifty in advance. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. " Half an hour later she laid aside the book. But let that verse tell my secret. The thought of beauty became an obsession. ‘Certainly no one will find it.
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