The hall grew very hot, and the smoke of innumerable cigars made the eyes smart.

A thick blue mist hung low over the heads of the audience.

The air was full of varied smells--the smell of stale cigars, of flat beer, of orange peel, of gas, of sachet powders, and of cheap perfumery.
One "artist" after another came upon the stage.

McTeague's attention never wandered for a minute.

Trina and her mother enjoyed themselves hugely.