With the lateness, footfalls were growing more and more audible, the gong of a street-car sounding out three blocks down.
"O my God!" And then in rapid succession, closing her eyes and digging her finger-nails into her palms: "Mamma! Mamma! Mamma!"
She wanted and wanted to cry, but her throat would not let her, and so she sat and sat.
There were still occasional figures moving through the little lanes and a couple or two deep in the obscurity of benches. After another while, at the remote end of her own bench, a figure sat down, lighting a pipe. She watched him pu-pu-pup. At half after eleven she slid along the bench.
"Where you goin'?"
He turned to look down.
"Eh?"
"Where you goin'?"
"No place."
"I'm cold."