occasional bellow of hilarious blackguardism, or for a song uplifted
by strident voices, or a cheer at some flaring symbol that pleased
the passers, there was little noise; only a thud, thud of footfalls
numberless, and the low, unvarying sound that suggested some huge
beast purring to itself in stupid contentment.

Nancy forgot her identity, lost sight of herself as an individual.
Her blood was heated by close air and physical contact. She did not
think, and her emotions differed little from those of any shop-girl
let loose. The 'culture,' to which she laid claim, evanesced in this
atmosphere of exhalations. Could she have seen her face, its look of
vulgar abandonment would have horrified her.

Some one trod violently on her heel, and she turned with a
half-angry laugh, protesting. 'Beg your pardon, miss,' said a young
fellow of the clerkly order. 'A push be'ind made me do it.' He
thrust himself to a place beside her, and Nancy conversed with him
unrestrainedly, as though it were a matter of course. The young man,
scrutinising her with much freedom, shaped clerkly compliments, and,
in his fashion, grew lyrical; until, at a certain remark which he
permitted himself, Nancy felt it time to shake him off. Her next
encounter was more noteworthy. Of a sudden she felt an arm round her
waist, and a man, whose breath declared the source of his
inspiration, began singing close to her ear the operatic ditty,
'Queen of my Heart.' He had, moreover, a good tenor voice, and
belonged, vaguely, to some stratum of educated society.

'I think you had better leave me alone,' said Nancy, looking him
severely in the face.