about midnight
Again , after a brusque voice had said , `` Move on , please , '' I followed the current of pedestrians down Piccadilly -- it must have been 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 -LRB- with a frightened sense of the length of time since I had been there -- `` Good heavens , it must be five hours at least ! '' -RRB- , 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 cafés 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 .