He thought that Turnhill
High Street compared very well with Derby. He would have preferred
it to be less changed. If the High Street was thus changed,
everything would be changed, including Child Row. The sole
phenomenon that recalled his youth (except the Town Hall) was the
peculiar smell of oranges and apples floating out on the frosty
air from holly-decorated greengrocers' shops.
He passed through the Market Square, noting that sinister freak,
the Jubilee Tower, and came to Child Row. The first building on
your right as you enter Child Row from the square is the Primitive
Methodist Chapel. Yes, it was still there; Primitive Methodism had
not failed in Turnhill because Toby Hall had deserted the cause
three-and-twenty years ago! But something serious had happened to
the structure. Gradually Toby realized that its old face had been
taken out and a new one put in, the classic pillars had vanished,
and a series of Gothic arches had been substituted by way of
portico; a pretty idea, but not to Toby's liking. It was another
change, another change! He crossed the street and proceeded
downwards in the obscurity, and at length halted and peered with
his little blue eyes at a small house (one of twins) on the other
side from where he stood. That house, at any rate, was unchanged.
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