She had been
walking all day and had not tasted food since the morning, and the
weakness of the flesh brought a sudden weakness of the spirit. She felt
that she could struggle no more, that the whole world was against her--she
felt that she must have food and drink and rest. All this London tempted
her, and the cup was at her lips. A young man in evening clothes had
spoken to her. His voice was soft, the look in his eyes seemed kindly.
Thinking of the circumstances ten minutes later it seemed to her that she
had intended to answer him. But she was now at Charing Cross. There was a
lightness, an emptiness in her head which she could not overcome, and the
crowd appeared to her like a blurred, noisy dream. And then the dizziness
left her, and she realised the temptation she had escaped. Here, as in
Piccadilly, she could pick out the servant girls; but here their service
was yesterday's lodging-house--poor and dissipated girls, dressed in vague
clothes fixed with hazardous pins. Two young women strolled in front of
her. They hung on each other's arms, talking lazily. They had just come
out of an eating-house, and a happy digestion was in their eyes. The skirt
on the outside was a soiled mauve, and the bodice that went with it was a
soiled chocolate. A broken yellow plume hung out of a battered hat.
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