Mouths
that turned up at the corners were seldom met with in Mr. Neal's book of
subway faces.
Bleecker Street, and a worse jam than ever, but there was encouragement
in the thought that Fourteenth Street would soon relieve the pressure.
Two girls crowded on at Bleecker, amid shrill laughter and many
smothered exclamations. Their lips were carmined and their eyes bold.
Every swerve of the train brought fresh giggles or stifled screams from
them.
As the train was slowing down for Astor Place Station an express train
passed it, speeding for Fourteenth Street. Mr. Neal turned with an
effort (for he was wedged in tightly) and looked through the glass door
at the brightly lighted cars as they passed, and then slowly gained
upon, his own train. The express was crowded too, with people standing
in the aisles, hanging to straps. The faces were very clearly
distinguishable in the bright light; and Mr. Neal, strangely excited at
this rapid panorama of faces, saw each one distinctly. Suddenly he
leaned forward, close to the glass. He saw it! The face! It was there!
But it was gone in a moment. It had been like a flash in the dark
tunnel. His own train had come to a jarring stop, and the express was
only thunder in the distance.
Mr. Neal felt that he must rush out of the car, must get out into the
open.
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