eleven o'clock
A sense she was not until later able to find words for , that she was guarding something , his quite as much as her own , from profaning eyes , gave her the resolution it needed to carry on like that until she could be alone . Naturally , -- or at all events plausibly -- alone . She would n't run away from anybody . Toward eleven o'clock chance befriended her . She hid herself in the old orchard , lay prone upon the warm grass , her cheek upon her folded forearms , and let herself go . She did not cry even now . Grief was not what she felt , still less resentment .