They began to meet more people.  For the most part these were
staring before them, murmuring indistinct questions, jaded, haggard,
unclean.  One man in evening dress passed them on foot, his eyes on
the ground.  They heard his voice, and, looking back at him, saw one
hand clutched in his hair and the other beating invisible things.  His
paroxysm of rage over, he went on his way without once looking back.