midnight
Just single-space that introductory spiel at the top , will you ? '' Una rudely turned out of her typewriter a form-letter which she was writing for S. Herbert Ross , and began to type Walter 's publicity , her shoulders bent , her eyes intent , oblivious to the steady stream of gossip which flowed from stenographer to stenographer , no matter how busy they were . He needed her ! She would have stayed till midnight . While the keys burred under her fingers she was unconsciously telling herself a story of how she would be working half the night , with the office still and shadowy , of how a dead-white face would peer through the window near her desk -LRB- difficult of accomplishment , as the window was eight stories up in air -RRB- , of how she was to be pursued by a man on the way home ; and how , when she got there , her mother would say , `` I just do n't see how you could neglect me like this all evening . '' All the while she felt herself in touch with large affairs -- an article by the Governor of the State ; these very sheets that she was typing to go to famous newspapers , to the `` thundering presses '' of which she had read in fiction ; urgency , affairs , and -- doing something for Walter Babson . She was still typing swiftly at five-thirty , the closing hour .