Now they were driving down a hill, under a
railway-arch, along a road with villas and trees, trees and villas,
and then villas alone. What a wind! The bare branches were in a
frenzy, and from almost every villa blew little pennons of white
curtains. "They like to have their windows open any way," she
thought. Paul said very little; he was obviously nervous of how she
would take it all. She took it all very well.
"What pretty houses!" she said. "And here are the shops!"
Only a few--a sweet-shop, a grocer's, a stationer's with "Simpson's
Library" on the door, a post-office.
"The suburbs," said Paul.
What a wind! It rolled up the road like a leaping carpet, you could
almost see its folds and creases. No one about--not a living soul.
"The cab I ordered never came. Lucky thing there was one there,"
said Paul.
Not a soul about. Does any one live here? She could not see much
through the window, and she could hear nothing because the glass
rattled so.
"Here we are!" The cab stopped with a jerk. Here they were then. A
gate swung to behind them, there was a little drive with bushes on
either side of it and then the house.
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