Piccadilly--and saw lines of "public women," chiefly French and Belgian,
sauntering along, and heard men throwing light words to them as they
went by, I was thinking of the bleating sheep and the barking dog.

And again, when I was passing a men's club and the place where I had met
Angela, my dazed mind was harking back to Ilford (with a frightened
sense of the length of time since I had been there--"Good heavens, it
must be five hours at least!"), and wondering if Mrs. Oliver was giving
baby her drops of brandy and her spoonfuls of diluted milk.

But somewhere about midnight my soul seemed to take full possession of
my body, and I saw things clearly and sharply as I turned out of Oxford
Street into Regent Street.

The traffic was then rapidly dying down, the streets were darker, the
cafes were closing, men and women were coming Pout of supper rooms,
smoking cigarettes, getting into taxis and driving away; and another
London day was passing into another night.

People spoke to me. I made no answer. At one moment an elderly woman
said something to which I replied, "No, no," and hurried on. At another
moment, a foreign-looking man addressed me, and I pushed past without
replying. Then a string of noisy young fellows, stretching across the
broad pavement arm-in-arm, encircled me and cried:

"Here we are, my dear. Let's have a kissing-bee."

But with angry words and gestures I compelled them to let me go,
whereupon one of the foreign women who were sauntering by said
derisively:

"What does she think she's out for, I wonder?"

At length I found myself standing under a kind of loggia at the corner
of Piccadilly Circus, which was now half-dark, the theatres and
music-halls being closed, and only one group of arc lamps burning on an
island about a statue.

There were few people now where there had been so dense a crowd awhile
ago; policemen were tramping leisurely along; horse-cabs were going at
walking pace, and taxis were moving slowly; but a few gentlemen (walking
home from their clubs apparently) were passing at intervals, often
looking at me, and sometimes speaking as they went by.

Then plainly and pitilessly the taunt of the foreign woman came back to
me--what was I there for?

I knew quite well, and yet I saw that not only was I not doing what I
came out to do, but every time an opportunity had offered I had resisted
it. It was just as if an inherited instinct of repulsion had restrained
me, or some strong