nearly one o'clock
Oh heavens , how beautiful it was -- fearfully , awfully tragically beautiful ! I was deeply moved as I sat in silence watching her ; and when at length Giovanni , who had been holding her hand in his own long , bony ones and sometimes putting it to his lips , dropped off to sleep -LRB- tired out , perhaps , by talking to me -RRB- , and she , drawing up to where I sat by the end of the bed , resumed her self-defence , saying in a whisper that ladies like me could not possibly understand what a woman would do , in spite of herself , when the life of one she loved was threatened , I could bear her mistake no longer , but told her of my real condition -- that I was no longer a lady , that I had run away from my husband , that I had a child , and was living as a poor seamstress in the East End of London . Angela listened to my story in astonishment ; and when I had come to an end she was holding my hand and looking into my eyes with just that look which she had when she put me to bed for the first time at school , and , making her voice very low , told me to be a good child of the Infant Jesus . `` It 's nearly one o'clock . You ca n't go back to the East End to-night , '' she whispered . `` Oh , I must , I must , '' I said , getting up and making for the door . But before I had reached it my limbs gave way , whether from the strain of emotion or physical weakness , and if it had not been for Angela I should have dropped to the floor .