At that same hour, Edward,
the true king, hungry and thirsty, soiled and draggled, worn with
travel, and clothed in rags and shreds--his share of the results of the
riot--was wedged in among a crowd of people who were watching with deep
interest certain hurrying gangs of workmen who streamed in and out of
Westminster Abbey, busy as ants:  they were making the last preparation
for the royal coronation.