a quarter
to eight
The thin driver made way for him . It was a high jolting cab of the old-fashioned kind , a cab you might have sworn was Cornish had you seen it anywhere , a cab that smelt of beer and ancient leather and salt water , a cab that had once driven the fashion of Treliss to elegant dances and now must rattle the roads with very little to see , for all your trouble , at the end of it . The sleeping fields , like grey cloths , stretched on every side of them and the white road cut into the heart of the distance . It was a quarter to eight and a blue dusk . The driver tilted the top hat over one ear and they were off . `` I know this road as yer might say back ` ards . Ask any one down along Treliss way .