This seemed to renew the general interest in the closed door, andmany gazed in that direction. They looked at it as dumb bruteslook, as dogs paw and whine and study the knob. They shifted andblinked and muttered, now a curse, now a comment. Still theywaited and still the snow whirled and cut them with bitingflakes. On the old hats and peaked shoulders it was piling. Itgathered in little heaps and curves and no one brushed it off.In the centre of the crowd the warmth and steam melted it, andwater trickled off hat rims and down noses, which the ownerscould not reach to scratch. On the outer rim the piles remainedunmelted. Hurstwood, who could not get in the centre, stood withhead lowered to the weather and bent his form.。，
When he reached Forty-second Street, the fire signs were alreadyblazing brightly. Crowds were hastening to dine. Through brightwindows, at every corner, might be seen gay companies inluxuriant restaurants. There were coaches and crowded cablecars.。，
"It wasn't a hotel," said Hurstwood. "I was manager ofFitzgerald and Moy's place in Chicago for fifteen years."。， A half-dollar was passed over, and now a knock came at herdressing-room door.Carrie opened it.
It was truly a wintry evening, a few days later, when his onedistinct mental decision was reached. Already, at four o'clock,the sombre hue of night was thickening the air. A heavy snow wasfalling--a fine picking, whipping snow, borne forward by a swiftwind in long, thin lines. The streets were bedded with it--sixinches of cold, soft carpet, churned to a dirty brown by thecrush of teams and the feet of men. Along Broadway men pickedtheir way in ulsters and umbrellas. Along the Bowery, menslouched through it with collars and hats pulled over their ears.In the former thoroughfare businessmen and travellers were makingfor comfortable hotels. In the latter, crowds on cold errandsshifted past dingy stores, in the deep recesses of which lightswere already gleaming. There were early lights in the cablecars, whose usual clatter was reduced by the mantle about thewheels. The whole city was muffled by this fast-thickeningmantle.。， "Well, that's funny," said Drouet. "He did, you know. It was inall the papers."
In her comfortable chambers at the Waldorf, Carrie was reading atthis time "Pere Goriot," which Ames had recommended to her. Itwas so strong, and Ames's mere recommendation had so aroused herinterest, that she caught nearly the full sympatheticsignificance of it. For the first time, it was being borne inupon her how silly and worthless had been her earlier reading, asa whole. Becoming wearied, however, she yawned and came to thewindow, looking out upon the old winding procession of carriagesrolling up Fifth Avenue.。，