About eleven o'clock
The benches were deserted , except , perhaps , for some poor homeless wretch who could afford no shelter , and , huddled up in a corner , with his head buried in his breast , was sleeping heavily , like a dead man . The wet mud made Liza 's skirts cling about her feet , and the damp would come in and chill her legs and creep up her body , till she shivered , and for warmth pressed herself close against Jim . Sometimes they would go into the third-class waiting-rooms at Waterloo or Charing Cross and sit there , but it was not like the park or the Embankment on summer nights ; they had warmth , but the heat made their wet clothes steam and smell , and the gas flared in their eyes , and they hated the people perpetually coming in and out , opening the doors and letting in a blast of cold air ; they hated the noise of the guards and porters shouting out the departure of the trains , the shrill whistling of the steam-engine , the hurry and bustle and confusion . About eleven o'clock , when the trains grew less frequent , they got some quietness ; but then their minds were troubled , and they felt heavy , sad and miserable . One evening they had been sitting at Waterloo Station ; it was foggy outside -- a thick , yellow November fog , which filled the waiting-room , entering the lungs , and making the mouth taste nasty and the eyes smart . It was about half-past eleven , and the station was unusually quiet ; a few passengers , in wraps and overcoats , were walking to and fro , waiting for the last train , and one or two porters were standing about yawning . Liza and Jim had remained for an hour in perfect silence , filled with a gloomy unhappiness , as of a great weight on their brains .