er chair to the window, leaned upon
the sill, and looked up at the reddening sky. The windows of the other
houses were all open; here and there women talked from them with
friends across the street. People were going backwards and forwards
with bags and baskets, on the business of Saturday evening; in the
distance sounded the noise of the market in Lambeth Walk.

Shortly after eight o'clock Lydia said

'I'll just go round with my boots, and get something for dinner
to-morrow.'

'I'll come with you,' Thyrza said. 'I can't bear to sit here any
longer.'

They went forth, and were soon in the midst of the market. Lambeth Walk
is a long, narrow street, and at this hour was so thronged with people
that an occasional vehicle with difficulty made slow passage. On the
outer edges of the pavement, in front of the busy shops, were rows of
booths, stalls, and harrows, whereon meat, vegetables, fish, and
household requirements of indescribable variety were exposed for sale.
The vendors vied with one another in uproarious advertisement of their
goods. In vociferation the butchers doubtless excelled; their 'Lovely,
lovely, lovely!' and their reiterated 'Buy, buy, buy!' rang clangorous
above the hoarse roaring of costermongers and the din of those who
clattered pots and pans. Here and there meat was being sold by Dutch
auction, a brisk business. Umbrellas, articles of clothing, quack
medicines, were disposed of in the same way, giving occasion for much
coarse humour. The market-night is the sole out-of-door amusement
regularly at hand for London working people, the only one, in truth,
for which they show any real capacity. Everywhere was laughter and
interchange of good-fellowship. Women sauntered the length of the
street and back again for the pleasure of picking out the best and
cheapest bundle of rhubarb, or lettuce, the biggest and hardest
cabbage, the most appetising rasher; they compared notes, and bantered
each other on purchases. The hot air reeked with odours. From stalls
where whelks were sold rose the pungency of vinegar; decaying
vegetables trodden under foot blended their putridness with the musty
smell of second-hand garments; the grocers' shops were aromatic; above
all was distinguishable the acrid exhalation from the shops where fried
fish and potatoes hissed in boiling grease. There Lambeth's supper was
preparing, to be eaten on the spot, or taken away wrapped in newspaper.
Stewed eels and baked meat pies were dis