noon
Or , can they all be gathered to their fathers in the two old churchyards near to the High Street -- retirement into which churchyards appears to be a mere ceremony , there is so very little life outside their confines , and such small discernible difference between being buried alive in the town , and buried dead in the town tombs ? Over the way , opposite to the staring blank bow windows of the Dodo , are a little ironmonger 's shop , a little tailor 's shop -LRB- with a picture of the Fashions in the small window and a bandy-legged baby on the pavement staring at it -RRB- -- a watchmakers shop , where all the clocks and watches must be stopped , I am sure , for they could never have the courage to go , with the town in general , and the Dodo in particular , looking at them . Shade of Miss Linwood , erst of Leicester Square , London , thou art welcome here , and thy retreat is fitly chosen ! I myself was one of the last visitors to that awful storehouse of thy life 's work , where an anchorite old man and woman took my shilling with a solemn wonder , and conducting me to a gloomy sepulchre of needlework dropping to pieces with dust and age and shrouded in twilight at high noon , left me there , chilled , frightened , and alone . And now , in ghostly letters on all the dead walls of this dead town , I read thy honoured name , and find that thy Last Supper , worked in Berlin Wool , invites inspection as a powerful excitement ! Where are the people who are bidden with so much cry to this feast of little wool ? Where are they ?