‘I must go to Yearsly, to Cousin Delia now. . . .’
I got into a bus in Piccadilly, and off it at Waterloo. I walked
up the long sloping entrance, under the bridge.
The station was very big and full of people. The wide arch of
the roof seemed bigger than usual, higher, and further off. It
seemed very full of smoke and noise.
I went to the booking-office where we always went for our tickets,
but it was shut.