All the young girls stared respectfully and stupidly straight in front of them, though not without a glance out of the corner of their eye.

He disappeared up the stream, cleaving it like a salmon.
"He parts his hair at the back of his head!"-- "His hat is like a pudding-basin!"-- "Don't breathe upon him, he is so thin!"-- "He is his own father's son!"-- "Oh, what a conceited stick!" They had turned to look after him.
"He isn't nearly so stern as he walks there; but in the factory, you know, he has to be as firm as a rock.

Johanna Sjoberg, who does clear starching, recognised him down at the masked ball at the fair; she told me so herself." "You can just fancy," struck in Jakobina, "what a number of fine people come to the rooms in that way.

You think you are only waltzing with a common man, and perhaps it is the son of the richest man in the town! But if you are a little careful you can easily tell by the way they dance, or by their watch, or their shirt-collar, or because they chew such fine tobacco." "He looked at us, did you notice ?" whispered Kristofa eagerly into Silla's ear.
"Yes, because he knows me," said Silla, a little confused at his having fixed his eyes on her.
There was a burst of laughter.
"Is that young crow going to caw too ?" The young crow grew hot beneath her handkerchief, but she did not answer.

She knew quite well, that he did know her; he had been in the office when she went out with her mother to the Consul-General's to apply for a place in the factory.
A stream of girls from another factory fell like a tributary into theirs, and then through ramifications of streets and lanes, the whole flowed out into the irregular part of the town that was built of wood, below--through narrow entrances and up narrow flights of steps, into brown, red, white or grey houses, houses with slate roofs, with turf roofs, with tile roofs, and new houses that had barely been roofed.
Silla slipped into a narrow, damp entry.