She was one of those people who must give, if it is nothing better than a Kentucky banana.
After they passed the stone quarry, they left the country behind them, going down the stubble-covered hills that fenced in the town.

Even in the narrow streets, and through the warehouses, the strong, dewy air had quite blown down and off the fog and dust.

Morning (town morning, to be sure, but still morning) was shining in the red window-panes, in the tossing smoke up in the frosty air, in the very glowing faces of people hurrying from market with their noses nipped blue and their eyes watering with cold.

Lois and her cart, fresh with country breath hanging about them, were not so out of place, after all.

House-maids left the steps half-scrubbed, and helped her measure out the corn and beans, gossiping eagerly; the newsboys "Hi-d!" at her in a friendly, patronizing way; women in rusty black, with sharp, pale faces, hoisted their baskets, in which usually lay a scraggy bit of flitch, on to the wheel, their whispered bargaining ending oftenest in a low "Thank ye, Lois!"-- for she sold cheaper to some people than they did in the market.
Lois was Lois in town or country.