Ranged like the heads of malefactors on Temple Bar were hats--emerald and white, lightly wreathed or drooping beneath deep-dyed feathers.

And on the carpet were her feet--pointed gold, or patent leather slashed with scarlet.
Feasted upon by the eyes of women, the clothes by four o'clock were flyblown like sugar cakes in a baker's window.

Fanny eyed them too.

But coming along Gerrard Street was a tall man in a shabby coat.

A shadow fell across Evelina's window--Jacob's shadow, though it was not Jacob.
And Fanny turned and walked along Gerrard Street and wished that she had read books.