But it was out of the question, of course.

There was only one seat, and there were three girls, besides all those others.

With a sigh, then, Billy turned her eyes back to those others--those many others that made up the long line stretching its weary length up the Avenue.
There were more women than men, yet the men were there: jolly young men who were plainly students; older men whose refined faces and threadbare overcoats hinted at cultured minds and starved bodies; other men who showed no hollows in their cheeks nor near-holes in their garments.

It seemed to Billy that women of almost all sorts were there, young, old, and middle-aged; students in tailored suits, widows in crape and veil; girls that were members of a merry party, women that were plainly forlorn and alone.
Some in the line shuffled restlessly; some stood rigidly quiet.

One had brought a camp stool; many were seated on the steps.