At first they had a carriage to themselves. They sat opposite each other
with averted faces, looking out of the windows and watching the houses,
the downs dead asleep in the sun, the embankments of the railway with
exhausted hot flowers go slowly past out of their reach. They felt as if
they were being dragged away like criminals. Unable to speak or think,
they stared out of the windows, Helena struggling in vain to keep back
her tears, Siegmund labouring to breathe normally.

At Yarmouth the door was snatched open, and there was a confusion of
shouting and running; a swarm of humanity, clamouring, attached itself
at the carriage doorway, which was immediately blocked by a stout man
who heaved a leather bag in front of him as he cried in German that here
was room for all. Faces innumerable--hot, blue-eyed faces--strained to
look over his shoulders at the shocked girl and the amazed Siegmund.

There entered eight Germans into the second-class compartment, five men
and three ladies. When at last the luggage was stowed away they sank
into the seats. The last man on either side to be seated lowered himself
carefully, like a wedge, between his two neighbours. Siegmund watched
the stout man, the one who had led the charge, settling himself between
his large lady and the small Helena. The latter crushed herself against
the side of the carriage. The German's hips came down tight against her.
She strove to lessen herself against the window, to escape the pressure
of his flesh, whose heat was transmitted to her. The man squeezed in the
opposite direction.