She had never been here before. This was a strange place, a place totally out of the world she knew. She was standing in a big, great hall too high for her to catch its height. The hall was full of working people on machines, which she could not identify, but which probably were to spin the cotton. There was a dim, blue light. It was caused by the blue and obscure windows, through which a subdued light – weird and gloomy as it was – leaked.
It was very loud because of the machines, so Margaret wasn't even able to hear her own thoughts. There was a big noise which seemed so uproarious that it hurt the ears. It was a sound like rolling thunder, but it never stopped or was quiet again as it would be, when a thunder rises above the land and makes everyone shiver and shudder because of its enormous noise.
Margaret noticed women, children and men working hard. They looked like diligent ants, working in time with all the others. To Margaret it seemed to be some very unusual orchestra, some orchestra not for amusement, but an orchestra of desperation and hard labour. These people had to work here all day, they couldn't pause in their work, and they had to catch the pulse to work as fast as they could. She felt like she could smell their sweat caused by fear and physical exertion mixed with the stench of the machines.
Margaret had a bitter taste in her mouth; she felt anger because of all the suffering she saw here without having much insight or going into details. She could see it, feel it beneath the surface of what she actually conceived. It was scary in some kind of way, that she thought she could understand this people's position without knowing the name of anyone here. It made her mouth fill with the bitter taste of seeing despair and distress without having the possibility to help.
But there was another taste she could not get rid of. The white fluffs of cotton, which danced all around in the air like snow flakes, got into her mouth. Their taste was soft and broad, making her feel saturated in some way, but it mad her also cough hard as some fluffs got into her lungs. She looked around once more and then she saw him.
This must be Mr. Thornton, she considered. He was standing above his workers on a flight of stairs and was looking down on them, controlling their work like a slave driver. He was tall and his straight and upright posture made him even taller. He was not bad looking, but she found a severity in his face, which made her feel repulsive against him. She was shocked as he began to scream at some worker as if this man was an animal. With a promptness, which she had not thought possible, he was after the worker, who must have done something wrong. He grabbed the man and hit him, who appeared to have no idea, what he had done wrong.
Mr. Thornton was screaming at the man, something about smoking in the mill, but Margaret didn't really understand, what this was all about. She was as much shocked as she had never been in her life before. This man was cruel and hard, unfeeling, a monster. In his black coat he seemed to her like the devil himself. There was a brief idea, just one sentence, which crossed her mind: "I think God has forsaken this place. I believe, I've seen hell and it's white, it's snow-white."