Adjoining, a man holding a sleeping woman in his arms.

Farther on, a man, his clothing caked with gutter mud, asleep, with head in the lap of a woman, not more than twenty-five years old, and also asleep.
It was this sleeping that puzzled me.

Why were nine out of ten of them asleep or trying to sleep?
But it was not till afterwards that I learned.

_It is a law of the powers that be that the homeless shall not sleep by night_.

On the pavement, by the portico of Christ's Church, where the stone pillars rise toward the sky in a stately row, were whole rows of men lying asleep or drowsing, and all too deep sunk in torpor to rouse or be made curious by our intrusion.
"A lung of London," I said; "nay, an abscess, a great putrescent sore." "Oh, why did you bring me here ?" demanded the burning young socialist, his delicate face white with sickness of soul and stomach sickness.
"Those women there," said our guide, "will sell themselves for thru'pence, or tu'pence, or a loaf of stale bread." He said it with a cheerful sneer.
But what more he might have said I do not know, for the sick man cried, "For heaven's sake let us get out of this.".