twelve o’clock
The door closed on her ; and I was left alone to watch the last moments of the woman who had ruined me ! As I sat down near the open window , the sounds outside in the street told of the waning of the night . There was an echo of many footsteps , a hoarse murmur of conflicting voices , now near , now afar off . The public houses were dispersing their drunken crowds -- the crowds of a Saturday night : it was twelve o'clock . Through those street-sounds of fierce ribaldry and ghastly mirth , the voice of the dying woman penetrated , speaking more slowly , more distinctly , more terribly than it had spoken yet . `` I see him , '' she said , staring vacantly at me , and moving her hands slowly to and fro in the air . `` I see him !