seven
o’clock in the morning
On the 12th of August , 18 -- -LRB- just three days after my tenth birthday , when I had been given such wonderful presents -RRB- , I was awakened at seven o'clock in the morning by Karl Ivanitch slapping the wall close to my head with a fly-flap made of sugar paper and a stick . He did this so roughly that he hit the image of my patron saint suspended to the oaken back of my bed , and the dead fly fell down on my curls . I peeped out from under the coverlet , steadied the still shaking image with my hand , flicked the dead fly on to the floor , and gazed at Karl Ivanitch with sleepy , wrathful eyes . He , in a parti-coloured wadded dressing-gown fastened about the waist with a wide belt of the same material , a red knitted cap adorned with a tassel , and soft slippers of goat skin , went on walking round the walls and taking aim at , and slapping , flies .