The stillness had been only a relative stillness, for there were plenty of sounds to be distinguished. A line of vans rumbled over one of the bridges, a train steamed into Charing Cross. She heard motor horns hooting in the scattered distance, and she was struck by the conceit that this was the dawn song of the birds of the city. The light became hard and cold, and she wondered when her neighbours would wake. A passing policeman looked at her curiously, seemed inclined to stop, but walked on. Turning her head she found she could see the face of the man next to her. His old black bowler hat had fallen off and lay on the pavement. Eve studied him, fascinated by her own disgust, and by his sottish ugliness. His skin was red, blotched, and pitted like an orange, black hair a quarter of an inch long bristled over his jowl and upper lip. His eyelids and nose were unmentionable. He wore no collar, and as he lounged there she could see a great red flabby lower lip jutting out like the lip of a jug. His black hair was greasy. He was wearing an old frock coat, whose lapels were all frayed and smeary, as though he were in the habit of holding himself up by them. Eve turned away with qualms of disgust, and glanced at the old woman. Her face, as she slept, had an expression of absurd astonishment, the eyebrows raised, the mouth open. Her face looked like tallow in a dirty, wrinkled bladder. She had two moles on one cheek, out of which grey hairs grew. Her bonnet had fallen back, and her open mouth showed a few rotten black teeth. A man at the end of the seat was the first to wake. He sat up, yawned, and blew his nose on his fingers. Then the sot next to Eve stirred. He stretched his legs, rolled his head to one side, and, being still half asleep, began to swear filthily in a thick, grumbling voice. Suddenly he sat up, turned, and stared into Eve’s face. His red brown eyes were angry and injected, the sullen, lascivious eyes of a sot. “Good mornin’!” She caught the twinge of insolent raillery in his voice. Even his brutishness was surprised by the appearance of his neighbour, and he had a reputation for humour. Eve looked away. He made facetious remarks, half directed to her, half to the world at large. “Didn’t know I was in such —— genteel company. Never had no luck. Suppose I’ve had m’ head on your shoulder all night and didn’t know it. Didn’t kiss me, did you, while I was sleeping like an innocent babe?” Another face peered round at her, grinning. Then the old woman woke up, snuffled, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Bin rainin’, of course?” Eve said that she thought it had. The old woman’s eyes seemed to be purblind, and without curiosity. A sudden anxiety stole over her face. She felt behind her, drew out the bit of newspaper, opened it, and disclosed the fish. She smelt it, and then began to eat, picking it to pieces with her fingers.