two o'clock
Then silence again . The university clock , a mile out , chimed twelve , and finally a sonorous one . Mrs. Goldstone lay huddled in her chair , vibrant for sound . At two o'clock the long , high-power car drew up at the curb again , this time without honking . She sat forward , trembling . There followed a half-hour of voices at the curb , a low voice of undeniable tensity , high laughter that shot up in joyous geysers . It was a fifteen-minute process from the curb to the first of the porch steps , and then Mrs. Goldstone leaned forward , her voice straining to keep its pitch .