a quarter to four
A vast weakness invaded him , turning his joints to water , giving him a sensation of nausea , draining his strength till he felt incapable of moving his eyes , which stared glassily at the toes of his shoes . Presently this passed ; he raised his glance and encountered the clock face on the mantelpiece . He held to it like a hand that was dragging him out of an abyss ; watched it grow from a circular object to a white dial crossed by black hands and edged by a ring of numerals . The hour marked slowly penetrated to his consciousness -- a quarter to four . He drew himself up and looked about ; saw his notes on the desk , his hat on the table , the matchsafe with a cigarette stump lying on its saucer . They were like memorials from another state of existence , things that connected him with a plane of being that he had left long ago . He had a vision of himself in that distant past , packing his trunk , making brisk , satisfactory jottings on a sheet of hotel paper , standing on the hearth looking into Lorry Alston 's angry eyes .