Quiet among the undertakers and the equipages and the calves of so many legs all steeped in grief, Mr. Bucket sits concealed in one of the inconsolable carriages and at his ease surveys the crowd through the lattice blinds. He has a keen eye for a crowd--as for what not?--and looking here and there, now from this side of the carriage, now from the other, now up at the house windows, now along the people's heads, nothing escapes him.

Quiet among the undertakers, Mr. Bucket sits concealed in one of the inconsolable carriages and at his ease surveys the crowd keenly through the blinds. He looks here and there, up and down, now at the house windows, now along the people's heads; nothing escapes him.
