ten o'clock
No other animal likes the hangman . The dogs bay at him , the oxen run bellowing out of his way , only the ravens acknowledge him as their host . They are his own birds . It is late in the evening , the sun has long since set , it may be about nine or ten o'clock , and yet the sky is unusually bright . Everywhere a strange reflected glare torments the eye of man . Not a cloud is visible ; there is not a star in the heavens , yet a persistent , murky yellowness embraces the whole sky like a shining mist , as if the night , instead of putting on her usual cinder-grey garment , had clothed herself in flame-coloured weeds . Any sounds that may be audible seem as if they come from an immeasurable distance , and are hollow and awe-inspiring .