Nor when he met the people was he disappointed in this respect. The stranger who looked for the first time at the quaint red houses could only think how very oddly shaped the people must be who could fit in to them. But although its pretensions to be an intellectual centre were a little vague, its pretensions to be a pleasant place were quite indisputable. It was described with some justice as an artistic colony, though it never in any definable way produced any art. It had been the outburst of a speculative builder, faintly tinged with art, who called its architecture sometimes Elizabethan and sometimes Queen Anne, apparently under the impression that the two sovereigns were identical. It was built of a bright brick throughout its sky-line was fantastic, and even its ground plan was wild. “The suburb of Saffron Park lay on the sunset side of London, as red and ragged as a cloud of sunset.
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