Already they were busy with returning people; in places even there
were shops open, and I saw a drinking fountain running water.

I remember how mockingly bright the day seemed as I went back on my
melancholy pilgrimage to the little house at Woking, how busy the
streets and vivid the moving life about me.  So many people were
abroad everywhere, busied in a thousand activities, that it seemed
incredible that any great proportion of the population could have been
slain.  But then I noticed how yellow were the skins of the people I
met, how shaggy the hair of the men, how large and bright their eyes,
and that every other man still wore his dirty rags.  Their faces
seemed all with one of two expressions--a leaping exultation and
energy or a grim resolution.  Save for the expression of the faces,
London seemed a city of tramps.  The vestries were indiscriminately
distributing bread sent us by the French government.  The ribs of the
few horses showed dismally.  Haggard special constables with white
badges stood at the corners of every street.  I saw little of the
mischief wrought by the Martians until I reached Wellington Street,
and there I saw the red weed clambering over the buttresses of
Waterloo Bridge.