two in the
afternoon
They saw each other every day . In the morning from nine till twelve , and in the afternoon until three , Condy worked away upon his novel , but not an evening passed that did not see him and Blix in the dining-room of the little flat . Thursdays and Sunday afternoons they visited the life-boat station , and at other times prowled about the unfrequented corners of the city , now passing an afternoon along the water front , watching the departure of a China steamer or the loading of the great , steel wheat ships ; now climbing the ladder-like streets of Telegraph Hill , or revisiting the Plaza , Chinatown , and the restaurant ; or taking long walks in the Presidio Reservation , watching cavalry and artillery drills ; or sitting for hours on the rocks by the seashore , watching the ceaseless roll and plunge of the surf , the wheeling sea-birds , and the sleek-headed seals hunting the offshore fish , happy for a half-hour when they surprised one with his prey in his teeth . One day , some three weeks before the end of the year , toward two in the afternoon , Condy sat in his usual corner of the club , behind the screen , writing rapidly . His coat was off and the stump of a cigar was between his teeth . At his elbow was the rectangular block of his manuscript . During the last week the story had run from him with a facility that had surprised and delighted him ; words came to him without effort , ranging themselves into line with the promptitude of well-drilled soldiery ; sentences and paragraphs marched down the clean-swept spaces of his paper , like companies and platoons defiling upon review ; his chapters were brigades that he marshaled at will , falling them in one behind the other , each preceded by its chapter-head , like an officer in the space between two divisions .