Going on along the Strand to Trafalgar Square, the paper in his
hand, my brother saw some of the fugitives from West Surrey.  There
was a man with his wife and two boys and some articles of furniture in
a cart such as greengrocers use.  He was driving from the direction of
Westminster Bridge; and close behind him came a hay waggon with five
or six respectable-looking people in it, and some boxes and bundles.
The faces of these people were haggard, and their entire appearance
contrasted conspicuously with the Sabbath-best appearance of the
people on the omnibuses.  People in fashionable clothing peeped at
them out of cabs.  They stopped at the Square as if undecided which
way to take, and finally turned eastward along the Strand.  Some way
behind these came a man in workday clothes, riding one of those
old-fashioned tricycles with a small front wheel.  He was dirty and
white in the face.