The streets were full of people who had worked indoors all through the priceless day and had now come hungrily out to drink the muddy lees of it.

They stood in long black lines, waiting before the pit entrances of the theatres--short-coated boys, and girls in sailor hats, all shivering and chatting gayly.

There was a blurred rhythm in all the dull city noises--in the clatter of the cab horses and the rumbling of the busses, in the street calls, and in the undulating tramp, tramp of the crowd.

It was like the deep vibration of some vast underground machinery, and like the muffled pulsations of millions of human hearts.
[See "The Barrel Organ by Alfred Noyes.

Ed.] [I have placed it at the end for your convenience] "Seems good to get back, doesn't it ?" Bartley whispered, as they drove from Bayswater Road into Oxford Street.