On the twenty-fifth Isaac Rickman lay dead in his villa at Ilford.
I was near to Ilford and I could go to see Isabel every day.
Although Ilford is a long way off I can go there every day, can't I'!
She was a Mrs. Oliver, and she lived at Ilford, which was at the other end of London and quite on the edge of the country.
The bridge, without a word of warning, had bolted—was probably by this time well on its way to Ilford.
In my ignorance and simplicity this captured me completely, so I replied at once saying I would take baby to Ilford the next day.
I found the publican from Ilford aboard—he was taking a trip to Sydney.
I was hardly conscious of what happened next—hardly aware of passing through the streets to Ilford.
I set the thought of Ilford, on the edge of the country, with its green fields and its flowers.