Among the rails which had once held coats and the deep tissue-paper underfoot, the last hunting women of the day moved and sought.
They seemed not to notice each other directly; only, in a dangerous way, to be aware of the direction of each other’s glances, as hungry men are suddenly aware that one of them is out for a second helping. Last night, after the first day of the great winter sales in Manchester, the exhausted sales staffs were exchanging horror stories and recognising their biggest success since the war.
