hours from midnight
A skinned cat , possibly still alive , fell on the street before me . Under one of the gas-lamps lay something long : it was a tress of dark hair , torn perhaps from some woman 's head : she had beautiful hair at least . Once I heard the cry of murder , but where , in that chaos of humanity , right or left , before or behind me , I could not even guess . Home to such regions , from gorgeous stage-scenery and dresses , from splendid , mirror-beladen casinos , from singing-halls , and places of private and prolonged revelry , trail the daughters of men at all hours from midnight till morning . Next day they drink hell-fire that they may forget . Sleep brings an hour or two of oblivion , hardly of peace ; but they must wake , worn and miserable , and the waking brings no hope : their only known help lies in the gin-shop . What can be done with them ?