In the morning
she awoke and, guessing where she was lodged from various signs and
tokens, such as texts upon the wall, began to scream for her clothes.
An attendant, who thought that she had developed delirium tremens, ran
up and asked what was the matter.
'Matter?' ejaculated the sot, 'the matter is that if I don't get out
of this ---- place in double quick time, _I shall lose my character!_'
The women who avail themselves of this 'Ann Fowler' Home are of all
ages and in various employments. One, I was told, was a lady separated
from her husband, whose father, now dead, had been the mayor of a
large city.
A Liverpool Institution of another class, known as 'The Hollies,' is
an Industrial Home for fallen women, drunkards, thieves, and
incorrigible girls. It holds thirty-eight inmates and is always full,
a good many of these being sent to the place from Police-courts whence
they are discharged under the First Offenders Acts.
I saw these women at their evening prayers. The singing was hearty and
spontaneous, and they all seemed happy enough. Still, the faces of
most of them (they varied in age from forty-six to sixteen) showed
traces of life's troubles, but one or two were evidently persons of
some refinement.
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