." Little soft brooms on wire handles. They are eagerly bought by
the soldiers.

"Buy a golliwog! Tuppence a golliwog!"

"Buy a jumping donkey! All alive-oh!"

"Su-perior chewing gum. Buy something to do, boys."

"Buy a rose. Give 'er a rose, boy. Roses, lady?"

"Fevvers! Fevvers!" They are hard to resist. Lovely, streaming feathers,
emerald green, scarlet, bright blue, canary yellow. Even the babies wear
feathers threaded through their bonnets.

And an old woman in a three-cornered paper hat cries as if it were her
final parting advice, the only way of saving yourself or of bringing him
to his senses: "Buy a three-cornered 'at, my dear, an' put it on!"

It is a flying day, half sun, half wind. When the sun goes in a shadow
flies over; when it comes out again it is fiery. The men and women feel
it burning their backs, their breasts and their arms; they feel their
bodies expanding, coming alive... so that they make large embracing
gestures, lift up their arms, for nothing, swoop down on a girl, blurt
into laughter.

Lemonade! A whole tank of it stands on a table covered with a cloth;
and lemons like blunted fishes blob in the yellow water. It looks solid,
like a jelly, in the thick glasses. Why can't they drink it without
spilling it? Everybody spills it, and before the glass is handed back
the last drops are thrown in a ring.

Round the ice-cream cart, with its striped awning and bright brass
cover, the children cluster. Little tongues lick, lick round the cream
trumpets, round the squares. The cover is lifted, the wooden spoon
plunges in; one shuts one's eyes to feel it, silently scrunching.

"Let these little birds tell you your future!" She stands beside the
cage, a shrivelled ageless Italian, clasping and unclasping her
dark claws. Her face, a treasure of delicate carving, is tied in a
green-and-gold scarf. And inside their prison the love-birds flutter
towards the papers in the seed-tray.

"You have great strength of character. You will marry a red-haired man
and have three children. Beware of a blonde woman." Look out! Look
out! A motor-car driven by a fat chauffeur comes rushing down the hill.
Inside there a blonde woman, pouting, leaning forward--rushing through
your life--beware! beware!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am an auctioneer by profession, and if what I
tell you is not the truth I am liable to have my licence taken away from
me and a heavy imprisonment." He holds the licence across his chest;