The floor of it also was of glass.
From his memory of the cliffs between New Quay and Boscastle, so remote in time, and so recent in his experience, it seemed to him that they must be near four hundred feet above the moving ways.

He stopped, looked down between his legs upon the swarming blue and red multitudes, minute and foreshortened, struggling and gesticulating still towards the little balcony far below, a little toy balcony, it seemed, where he had so recently been standing.

A thin haze and the glare of the mighty globes of light obscured everything.

A man seated in a little openwork cradle shot by from some point still higher than the little narrow bridge, rushing down a cable as swiftly almost as if he were falling.

Graham stopped involuntarily to watch this strange passenger vanish below, and then his eyes went back to the tumultuous struggle.
Along one of the faster ways rushed a thick crowd of red spots.