The streets are busy-busy-busy. It's mostly people dressed as Harry now is; they all look like they know where they're going and what they're doing. Halfway down the street someone has parked a wagon to unload many small barrels and lug them into another shop. The horse makes a spot of stillness in all this bustle.

Someone comes up behind Harry. It's the old woman from the hallway, with her pipe. "Hey. Hey--Feuilly, right? You're not out of work, are you?"