"Never 'eard of it, miss."
"It's not very far from Horton Square."
"Oh, we don't go anywhere near there."
He hopped on to his step and rang the bell.
She stood on the curb, looking at the other omnibuses with a weary disinclination to ask again. She held Kate Kearney in her arms, in terror of the traffic. A boy was shouting almost in her ear: "Star! Daring burglary by d'ylight! Star! Murder in the West End! Evening News! Duke of Oldchester run over by a motor! Great Strike in Nottingham! Families starving!..."
She turned from him with a sense of physical repulsion. She went forward and accosted another conductor.
"That dawg with you, miss? Can't take a dawg in a 'bus! Not allowed, miss!"
He shouted as a consolatory afterthought: "'E can run alongside, you know!"
She gave a sudden hysterical little laugh. She glanced at the crowded road, and down at Kate Kearney, cowering in her arms. She moved forward slowly, not knowing which way Henley Road lay. She was tired out; she had never felt so tired and forlorn in all her life. The sea of people, of traffic, the noise, the shouts, bewildered her, dazed her. She moved away hurriedly from the newspaper boys, who seemed, to her shrinking fancy, to be gloating with aggressive noise over endless horrors.
"We—we've got to walk back, K.K. I've only sixpence, so we can't drive at all. Oh, K.K.—I—I'm going to cry—"