understood all sorts of vague, subtle things that I had not understood
before; that I had been blind and now saw; that I had become kinder, more
sympathetic, more human. What these things were that I understood, or
thought I understood, I could not have explained. All I felt was that a
radical change of attitude had occurred in me. 'Poor world!

Poor humanity! My heart melts for you!' Thus spoke my soul, pouring
itself out. The very stone facings of the station and the hotel seemed
somehow to be humanized and to need my compassion.

I walked with eyes downcast into the station. I had determined to take
the train from Knype to Shawport, a distance of three miles, and then to
walk up the hill from Shawport through Oldcastle Street to Bursley. I
hoped that by such a route at such an hour, I should be unlikely to meet
acquaintances, of whom, in any case, I had few. My hopes appeared to be
well founded, for the large booking-hall at the station was thronged with
a multitude entirely strange to me--workmen and workwomen and workgirls
crowded the place. The first-class and second-class booking-windows were
shut, and a long tail of muscular men, pale men, stout women, and thin
women pushed to take tickets at the other window. I was obliged to join
them, and to wait my turn amid the odour of corduroy and shawl, and the
strong odour of humanity; my nostrils were peculiarly sensitive that
morning. Some of the men had herculean arms and necks, and it was these
who wore pieces of string tied round their trousers below the knee,
disclosing the lines of their formidable calves. The women were mostly
pallid and quiet. All carried cans, or satchels, or baskets; here and
there a man swung lightly on his shoulder a huge bag of tools, which I
could scarcely have raised from the ground. Everybody was natural,
direct, and eager; and no one attempted to be genteel or refined; no one
pretended that he did not toil with his hands for dear life. I