about eleven
o’clock
Had he said , `` Why not go on writing , '' it is very probable he would have scared me away from pen and ink for ever ; but there was nothing either to frighten one or arouse one 's antagonism in the mere suggestion to `` write another . '' And thus a dead point in the revolution of my affairs was insidiously got over . The word `` another '' did it . At about eleven o'clock of a nice London night , Edward and I walked along interminable streets talking of many things , and I remember that on getting home I sat down and wrote about half a page of `` An Outcast of the Islands '' before I slept . This was committing myself definitely , I wo n't say to another life , but to another book . There is apparently something in my character which will not allow me to abandon for good any piece of work I have begun . I have laid aside many beginnings .