The third-class passengers, whose minor importance in the scheme of things did not warrant such displays of self-importance, made meekly and wearily for the exits.
They were dammed back at the barriers by two ticket collectors, whose adroit manipulation of the gates prevented more than one person trickling through at a time, and turned the choked stream of humanity within into a whirlpool of floating faces and struggling forms.

As Mr.Brimsdown stood regarding this distracting spectacle from the outside, he saw one of the ticket collectors grasp the arm of a girl who was just emerging, at the same time shutting the gate on a stout woman following, thus effectually blocking the egress of those behind.
The girl turned quickly at the touch of the detaining hand, and there was fear in her face.
"What do you want ?" she said, framing the words with an obvious effort.
The ticket collector was a man whose natural choleric temperament was accentuated by the harassing nature of his employment.

He tore in two portions the ticket which the girl had just given him, and thrust half into her hand.
"Here's your return half.

Why don't you look what yer doin' when givin' up yer ticket?
You women are the limit.

Now, mother, for God's sake don't be all night getting through that there barrier.