eleven o'clock
I am not sure . I have come to be uncertain of my motives . It is distinctly possible that , sub-consciously , I was making for the cellar all the time . I only know that I landed there , with a lemon in my hand , at something after eleven o'clock . The books were piled in disorder on the shelves . Their five years of burial had not hurt them beyond a slight dampness of the leaves . No hand , I believe , had touched them since they were taken from the box where Mrs. Graves had helped to pack them .