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HarneysweptCharityupontothefirstcarandtheycapturedabenchfortwo,andsatinhappyisolationwhilethetrainswayedandroaredalongthroughrichfieldsandlanguidtree-clumps.Thehazeofthemorninghadbecomeasortofcleartremorovereverything,likethecolourlessvibrationaboutaflame;andtheopulentlandscapeseemedtodroopunderit.ButtoCharitytheheatwasastimulant:itenvelopedthewholeworldinthesameglowthatburnedatherheart.NowandthenalurchofthetrainflungheragainstHarney,andthroughherthinmuslinshefeltthetouchofhissleeve.Shesteadiedherself,theireyesmet,andtheflamingbreathofthedayseemedtoenclosethem.
ThetrainroaredintotheNettletonstation,thedescendingmobcaughtthemonitstide,andtheyweresweptoutintoavaguedustysquarethrongedwithseedy“hacks”andlongcurtainedomnibusesdrawnbyhorseswithtasselledfly-netsovertheirwithers,whostoodswingingtheirdepressedheadsdrearilyfromsidetoside.
Amobof’busandhackdriverswereshouting“TotheEagleHouse,”“TotheWashingtonHouse,”“ThiswaytotheLake,”“JuststartingforGreytop;”andthroughtheiryellscamethepoppingoffire-crackers,theexplosionoftorpedoes,thebangingoftoy-guns,andthecrashofafiremen’sbandtryingtoplaytheMerryWidowwhiletheywerebeingpackedintoawaggonettestreamingwithbunting.
