The buzz of voices increased.
"W'ere's the perlice ?" "Not w'ere they're wanted, you may be sure." "It's my belief they go 'ome an' sleep it out these cold nights." "Well, I s'pose a p'liceman 'as ter take care of 'imself, like everybody else," said one, and laughed.
"It's shameful the way these brutes are allowed to knock men about." "An' the perlice know very well 'oo they are, but they're afraid of their own skins." The woman in the nightdress had edged nearer, craning her neck over the shoulders of the men to see better.

As another match was struck she saw the man's face.
"My Gawd, it's my 'usband!" she screamed.

"Bill, Bill, wot 'ave they done ter yer ?" Her old affection, starved to death by years of neglect, sprang to life for an instant in this cry of agony.

She dropped on her knees beside the bruised body, wiping the blood from his face with the sleeve of her nightdress.

A dark red stain spread over the coarse, common calico.
And she kissed passionately the bleeding lips, heedless of the sour smell of alcohol that tainted his breath.