There was a continual going and coming, a monotonous shuffle of feet and hum of talk.

A heavy odorous warmth in which were mingled the smells of sweetened whisky, tobacco, the fumes of cooking, and the scent of perfume, exhaled into the air.

A gay and noisy party developed in one of the large back rooms; at every moment one could hear gales of laughter, the rattle of chairs and glassware, mingled with the sounds of men's voices and the little screams and cries of women.

Every time the waiter opened the door to deliver an order he let out a momentary torrent of noises.
Girls, habitues of the place, continued to pass the door of the room where Vandover and his friends were seated.

Each time a particularly handsome one went by, the four looked out after her, shutting their lips and eyes and nodding their heads.
Young Haight had called for more drinks, ordering, however, mineral water for himself, and Vandover was just telling about posing the female models in a certain life-class to which he belonged, when he looked up and broke off, exclaiming: "Well, well, here we are at last! How are you, Flossie?
Come right in." Flossie stood in the doorway smiling good-humouredly at them, without a trace of embarrassment or of confusion in her manner.