nine o'clock
She washed out her stockings at the stationary stand , got them as dry as her remarkably strong hands could wring them , hung them on a rung of the chair near the hot little radiator . She cleaned her boots and overshoes with an old newspaper she found in a drawer , and wet at the washstand . She took her hat to pieces and made it over into something that looked almost fresh enough to be new . Then , ready for bed , she got the office of the hotel on the telephone and left a call for half-past nine o'clock -- three hours and a half away . When she was throwing up the window , she glanced into the street . The rain had once more ceased . Through the gray dimness the men and women , boys and girls , on the way to the factories and shops for the day 's work , were streaming past in funereal procession .