were there, a multitude of people. I was surprised, but not alarmed.
Save for an occasional wastrel of civilisation, incapable of
degradation and concerned only for sleep, the park is wont to be a
desert at that hour; but the hum of the traffic, the flashing cab
lamps, never quite out of sight, prevent fear. Far from being afraid I
was highly interested, and hastening my steps was soon on the
outskirts of a throng.

A throng it certainly was, a large body of persons, male and female,
scattered yet held together by a common interest, loitering and
expectant, strangely silent, not concerned with each other, rarely in
couples, with all their faces turned one way--namely, to the
south-east, or (if you want precision) precisely to Hyde Park Corner.
I have remarked upon the silence: that was really surprising; so also
was the order observed, and what you may call decorum. There was no
ribaldry, no skylarking, no shrill discord of laughter without mirth
in it to break the solemnity of the gracious night. These people just
stood or squatted about; if any talked together it was in secret
whispers. It is true that they were under the watch of a tall
policeman; yet he too, I noticed, watched nobody, but looked steadily
to the south-east, with his lantern harmless at his belt. As my eyes
grew used to the gloom I observed that all ranks composed the
company. I made out the shell jacket, the waist and elongated limbs of
a life-guardsman, the open bosom of an able seaman. I happened upon a
young gentleman in the crush hat and Inverness of the current fashion;
I made certain of a woman of the pavement and of ladies of the
boudoir, of a hospital nurse, of a Greenwich pensioner, of two
flower-girls sitting on the edge of one basket, of a shoeblack (I
think), of a costermonger, and a nun. Others there were, and more than
one or two of most categories: in a word, there was an assembly.