Men were returning from work, children were quarreling, women were in doorways, and a policeman was gossiping with the footman in a knot of watching idlers.

With a sigh that was like a groan, Mrs.Hastings sank back on the cushions of the brougham.
"I feel," she said, eyes closed, "as if I had been in a pagan temple where they worship oracles and what's-his-names.

What time is it?
I haven't an idea.

Dear, dear, I want to get home and feel as if my feet were on land and water again.

I want some strong sleep and a good sound cup of coffee, and then I shall know what's actually what." To St.George the slow drive up town was no less unreal than their visit.