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"My portrait!" echoed Jack. Non. 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. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage. "It won't do to betray the officer," he muttered.
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