Every woman was abroad, every man was out, shopping with his wife, or gathering with his pals.
The pavements were dark for miles around with people coming in, the little market-place on the crown of the hill, and the main street of Beldover were black with thickly-crowded men and women.
It was dark, the market-place was hot with kerosene flares, which threw a ruddy light on the grave faces of the purchasing wives, and on the pale abstract faces of the men.

The air was full of the sound of criers and of people talking, thick streams of people moved on the pavements towards the solid crowd of the market.

The shops were blazing and packed with women, in the streets were men, mostly men, miners of all ages.

Money was spent with almost lavish freedom.
The carts that came could not pass through.

They had to wait, the driver calling and shouting, till the dense crowd would make way.
Everywhere, young fellows from the outlying districts were making conversation with the girls, standing in the road and at the corners.
The doors of the public-houses were open and full of light, men passed in and out in a continual stream, everywhere men were calling out to one another, or crossing to meet one another, or standing in little gangs and circles, discussing, endlessly discussing.