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lineitsoutskirts,andtheveryinconspicuousrailway
stationthathidesitselfbehindthewarehousesnearthe
river’sbank.Mostofthetrains,too,quiteignoreits
existence,andpassthroughitontheirwaytomore
rewardingstopping-places,hardlyrecognisingiteven
byaspurtofsteamfromtheirwhistles,anditisonly
ifyoutravelbythosethatrequirethemostfrequent
pausesintheirprogressthatyouwillbeenabled
toalightatitsthinanddepopulatedplatform.
Justoutsidethestationthereperenniallywaitsalow-
roofedandsanguineomnibusthatunderdaily
discouragementcontinuestohopethatinthelong-
delayedfulnessoftimesomebodywillwant
tobedrivensomewhere.(Thisnobodyeverdoes,since
thedistancetoanyhouseissosmall,andaporter
followswithluggageonabarrow.)Itcarriesonits
flooraquantityoffreshstraw,inthemannerofthe
stagecoaches,inwhichtheproblematicpassenger,
shouldheeverappear,willnodoubtburyhisfeet.
Onitsside,justbelowthewindowthatisnotmade
toopen,itcarriesthelegendthatshowsthatitbelongs
totheComberArms,ahostelrysoself-effacingthat
itisdiscoverableonlybythesharpest-eyedofpilgrims.
Narrowroadways,flankedbyproportionatelynarrower
pavements,lieribbon-likebetweenhuddledshopsand
squarely-spaciousGeorgianhouses;andanair
ofleisureandcontent,amountingalmost
tostupefaction,isthemoralatmosphereoftheplace.
Ontheoutskirtsofthetown,crowningthegentle
hillsthatlietothenorthandwest,villasinacreplots,
belongingtobusinessmeninthecountytownsometen
milesdistant,pricktheirCockneyears”andare
strangelyatvariancewiththesobergravityofthe
indigenoushouses.So,too,arethemannersand
customsoftheirowners,whogotoStoneboroughevery
morningtotheirwork,andreturnbythetrainthat
bringsthemhomeintimefordinner.Theydoother
exoticandunsuitablethingsalso,likedrivingswiftly
aboutinmotors,inplayinggolfontheothersideofthe
