twelve o'clock
Slyme attempts an explanation : `` You wrong me , sir , '' he says , in a thick uncertain voice -- `` I -- I am ill -- ; my head is bad at times -- I -- '' `` That will do , '' says Fabian , such ineffable disgust in his whole manner as makes the miserable , besotted old wretch before him actually cower . `` No more lies . I have spoken to you already twice this week -- and -- ; do you know what hour it is ? -- twelve o'clock ! you begin your day early . '' `` I assure you , sir , '' begins Slyme again . But Fabian will not listen : `` Go , '' he says , briefly , with a disdainful motion of the hand , and in a tone not to be disobeyed .