To his psychical sense it seemed to him that it possessed a unity unlike any other.

There was magnetism in the air.

There was a sensation as if a creative act were in process, whereby thousands of individual cells were being welded more and more perfectly every instant into one huge sentient being with one will, one emotion, and one head.
The crying of voices seemed significant only as the stirrings of this creative power which so expressed itself.

Here rested this giant humanity, stretching to his sight in living limbs so far as he could see on every side, waiting, waiting for some consummation--stretching, too, as his tired brain began to guess, down every thoroughfare of the vast city.
He did not even ask himself for what they waited.

He knew, yet he did not know.