They were in the centre of the town, at a spot from which the main thoroughfares radiated into the suburbs and manufacturing centres.

Everywhere the pavements and the open space where a memorial tower stood were crowded with loiterers.
Men in long lines stood upon the kerbstones, their hands in their pockets, watching, waiting--God knows for what.

There were all sorts, of course, the professional idlers and the drunkard were there, but the others--there was no lack of them.

There was no lack of men, white-faced, dull-eyed, dejected, some of them actually with the brand of starvation to be seen in their sunken cheeks and wasted limbs.

No wonder that the swing-doors of the public-houses, where there was light and warmth inside, opened and shut continually.
"Look," Brooks repeated, with a tremor in his tone.