The slum is their jungle, and they live and prey in the jungle.
The dear soft people of the golden theatres and wonder-mansions of the West End do not see these creatures, do not dream that they exist.

But they are here, alive, very much alive in their jungle.

And woe the day, when England is fighting in her last trench, and her able-bodied men are on the firing line! For on that day they will crawl out of their dens and lairs, and the people of the West End will see them, as the dear soft aristocrats of Feudal France saw them and asked one another, "Whence came they ?" "Are they men ?" But they were not the only beasts that ranged the menagerie.

They were only here and there, lurking in dark courts and passing like grey shadows along the walls; but the women from whose rotten loins they spring were everywhere.

They whined insolently, and in maudlin tones begged me for pennies, and worse.