half past eleven
For I was to have told you that Bohemia is nothing more than the little country in which you do not live . If you try to obtain citizenship in it , at once the court and retinue pack the royal archives and treasure and move away beyond the hills . It is a hillside that you turn your head to peer at from the windows of the Through Express . At exactly half past eleven Kappelman , deceived by a new softness and slowness of riposte and parry in Mary Adrian , tried to kiss her . Instantly she slapped his face with such strength and cold fury that he shrank down , sobered , with the flaming red print of a hand across his leering features . And all sounds ceased , as when the shadows of great wings come upon a flock of chattering sparrows . One had broken the paramount law of sham-Bohemia -- the law of '' _ Laisser faire _ . ''