For wet humanity, with wispy hair
and swishing petticoats, draggled with desire for shelter, is a piteous
vision as it passes by.
Valentine and Julian regarded it, turning up their coat collars and
instinctively thrusting their hands deep into their pockets. Two soldiers
passed, pursued by a weary and tattered woman, at whom they laughingly
jeered as they adjusted the cloaks over their broad shoulders. They were
hurrying back to barracks, and disregarded the woman's reiterated
exclamation that she would go with them, having no home. A hansom went
by with the glass down, a painted face staring through it upon the yellow
mud that splashed round the horse's feet. Suddenly the horse slipped and
came down. The glass splintered as the painted and now screaming face
was dashed through it. A wet crowd of roughs and pavement vagabonds
gathered and made hoarse remarks on the woman's dress as she was hauled
out in her finery, bleeding and half fainting, her silk gown a prey to
the mud, her half-naked shoulders a hostage to the wind. Two men in
opera-hats, walked towards their club, discussing a divorce case, and
telling funny stories through the rain. A very small, pale, and filthy
boy stood with bare feet upon the kerbstone, and cried damp matches.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169