The Street by Ann Petry:
She had been wrong. There were some white mothers, too—three foreign-looking women near the door; a gray-haired woman just two seats ahead, her hair hanging in a lank curtain about the sides of her face; a tall, bony woman up near the front who kept clutching at the arms of her fur coat, a coat shiny from wear; and over on the side a young, too thin blond girl holding a small baby in her arms.
They were sitting in the same shrinking, huddled positions. Perhaps, she thought, we’re all here because we’re all poor. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with color.