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Updated: May 31, 2025
Beyond it stretched meadows, while the road, turning again, ran across an open heath, and pursued its way to Sprotsfield, four miles distant, a place of greater size where all amenities could be found. It was along this road that the friends now walked, Mary setting a brisk pace. "When once you've turned your back on the Avenue, it's heaps better," she said.
"Might be real country, looking this way, mightn't it? Except the Naylors' place Oh, and Tower Cottage there are no houses between this and Sprotsfield." The wind blew shrewdly, with an occasional spatter of rain; the withered bracken lay like a vast carpet of dull copper-color under the cloudy sky; scattered fir-trees made fantastic shapes in the early gloom of a December day.
"Care of Mrs. Willnough, Laundress, Inkston." "Right. Good-night." With a quick turn he was off along the road to Sprotsfield. The Sergeant saw the gleam of his torch once or twice, receding at quite a surprising pace into the distance. Feeling the wad of notes in his pocket perhaps to make sure that the whole episode had not been a dream the Sergeant turned back towards Inkston.
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