"with too many clothes on, sweating a little"

"The young men and women walked round and round the plaza in the hot electric night, the men one way, the girls another, never speaking to each other.  In the northern sky the lightning flapped.  It was like a religious ceremony which had lost all meaning, but at which they still wore their best clothes.  Sometimes a group of older women would join in the procession with a little more excitement and laughter, as if they retained some memory of how things used to go before all the books were lost.  A man with a gun on his hip watched from the Treasury steps, and a small withered soldier sat by the prison door with a gun between his knees and the shadows of the palms pointed at him like a zareba of sabres.  Lights were burning in a dentist's window, shining on the swivel chair and the red plush cushions and the glass for rinsing on its little stand and the child's chest-of-drawers full of fittings.  Behind the wire-netted windows of the private houses grandmothers swung back and forth in rocking-chairs, among the family photographs -- nothing to do, nothing to say, with too many clothes on, sweating a little.  This was the capital city of a state."

-- Graham Greene, The Power and the Glory