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Chapter XLIV
The throng of people hurried by, in two opposite streams, with no
symptom of cessation or exhaustion; intent upon their own affairs;
and undisturbed in their business speculations, by the roar of carts
and waggons laden with clashing wares, the slipping of horses' feet
upon the wet and greasy pavement, the rattling of the rain on
windows and umbrella-tops, the jostling of the more impatient
passengers, and all the noise and tumult of a crowded street in the
high tide of its occupation: while the two poor strangers, stunned and
bewildered by the hurry they beheld but had no part in, looked
mournfully on; feeling, amidst the crowd, a solitude which has no
parallel but in the thirst of the shipwrecked mariner, who, tost to and
fro upon the billows of a mighty ocean, his red eyes blinded by looking
on the water which hems him in on every side, has not one drop to
cool his burning tongue.
They withdrew into a low archway for shelter from the rain, and
watched the faces of those who passed, to find in one among them a
ray of encouragement or hope. Some frowned, some smiled, some
muttered to themselves, some made slight gestures, as if anticipating
the conversation in which they would shortly be engaged, some wore
the cunning look of bargaining and plotting, some were anxious and
eager, some slow and dull; in some countenances, were written gain;
in others, loss. It was like being in the confidence of all these people to
stand quietly there, looking into their faces as they flitted past. In
busy places, where each man has an object of his own, and feels
assured that every other man has his, his character and purpose are
written broadly in his face. In the public walks and lounges of a town,
people go to see and to be seen, and there the same expression, with
little variety, is repeated a hundred times. The working-day faces come
nearer to the truth, and let it out more plainly.
Falling into that kind of abstraction which such a solitude awakens,
the child continued to gaze upon the passing crowd with a wondering
interest, amounting almost to a temporary forgetfulness of her own
condition. But cold, wet, hunger, want of rest, and lack of any place in
which to lay her aching head, soon brought her thoughts back to the
point whence they had strayed. No one passed who seemed to notice
them, or to whom she durst appeal. After some time, they left their
place of refuge from the weather, and mingled with the concourse.
Evening came on. They were still wandering up and down, with fewer
people about them, but with the same sense of solitude in their own
breasts, and the same indifference from all around. The lights in the
streets and shops made them feel yet more desolate, for with their
help, night and darkness seemed to come on faster. Shivering with the
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