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. In this way, Jack was brought back to Newgate, and again chained down in the Middle Ward. All alone; and nobody cared whether he lived or died.
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