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A riding-habit is all I have seen. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. 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. She spoke with fluent enthusiasm. And guess what? I don’t sleep much, if you haven’t noticed. She calmed herself, breathing deeply.
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