Faces are discovered by the harsh light of the gas jets and its reflection from plate-glass shop windows.

Antonia goes by, surrounded by men, who bend forward and look at her with desire amid their clamor of conversation.

She saw me, and a little sound of appeal comes from her across the escort that presses upon her.
But I turn aside and let her go by.
When she and her harness of men have disappeared, I smell in their wake the odor of Petrolus.

He is lamp-man at the factory.

Yellow, dirty, cadaverous, red-eyed, he smells rancid, and was, perhaps, nurtured on paraffin.