He came up to her, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said, "Dearest." His voice was supplicating.

But she shut her face away from him, as much as to say, "You can't possibly understand." As he did not leave her, however, she had to wipe her eyes, and to raise them to the level of the factory chimneys on the other bank.

She saw also the arches of Waterloo Bridge and the carts moving across them, like the line of animals in a shooting gallery.

They were seen blankly, but to see anything was of course to end her weeping and begin to walk.
"I would rather walk," she said, her husband having hailed a cab already occupied by two city men.
The fixity of her mood was broken by the action of walking.

The shooting motor cars, more like spiders in the moon than terrestrial objects, the thundering drays, the jingling hansoms, and little black broughams, made her think of the world she lived in.