all of it stage-lit by the harsh orange glare of new street lamps

"So at City Hall, she changed buses and began the long ride out to Ballymacarret. This time, the bus was almost empty as it rushed through the gritty gloom of evening, down grey drab streets, fringed by row upon row of mean little working-class houses, brick red, stone grey, each and every one the same. At each window, between fraying lace curtains, a coloured vase, a set of Union Jacks, or a figurine of a little girl holding her skirts up to wade, sat like little altars, turned towards the street for the edification of the neighbours.
 
She got off at the usual place, a stop near a factory. She walked along a street of tiny houses, tiny gimcrack shops, all of it stage-lit by the harsh orange glare of new street lamps. ..."

- Brian Moore, The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne, 1955. A satisfyingly gloomy book, precisely written and sympathetically rendered.