The light burns behind yellow blinds and pink blinds, and above fanlights, and down in basement windows.

The street market in Soho is fierce with light.

Raw meat, china mugs, and silk stockings blaze in it.
Raw voices wrap themselves round the flaring gas-jets.

Arms akimbo, they stand on the pavement bawling--Messrs.

Kettle and Wilkinson; their wives sit in the shop, furs wrapped round their necks, arms folded, eyes contemptuous.