Maggie,
a girl of the streets (excerpt)
By
Stephen Crane
Chapter II
Eventually they entered into a dark region
where, from a careening building, a dozen gruesome doorways gave up loads of
babies to the street and the gutter. A wind of early autumn raised yellow
dust from cobbles and swirled it against an hundred windows. Long streamers of
garments fluttered from fire-escapes. In all unhandy places there were buckets,
brooms, rags and bottles. In the street infants played or fought with
other infants or sat stupidly in the way of vehicles. Formidable women,
with uncombed hair and disordered dress, gossiped while leaning on railings, or
screamed in frantic quarrels. Withered persons, in curious postures of
submission to something, sat smoking pipes in obscure corners. A thousand odors
of cooking food came forth to the street. The building quivered and
creaked from the weight of humanity stamping about in its bowels.
A small ragged girl dragged a red, bawling
infant along the crowded ways. He was hanging back, baby-like, bracing
his wrinkled, bare legs...
Source:
Crane, Stephen. Maggie, a girl of the streets.