midnight
It was now close upon two o'clock , and I had been out since between three and four the previous afternoon -- not quite twenty-four hours , in point of actual time ; but a week , a month , a year , in point of sensation ! Had I not seen a man die since that hour yesterday ? Walking homewards through the garish streets in the hot afternoon , all the strange scenes in which I had just been an actor thronged fantastically upon my memory . The joyous dinner with Franz Müller ; the busy Temple ; the noisy theatre ; the long chase through the wet streets at midnight ; the crowded gaming-house ; the sweet country drive at early morning ; the quiet wood , and the dead man lying on his back , with the shadows of the leaves upon his face , -- all this , in strange distinctness , came between me and the living tide of the Boulevards . And now , over-tired and over-excited as I was , I remembered for the first time that I had eaten nothing since half-past five that morning . And then I also remembered that I had left Müller waiting for me under the archway , without a word of explanation . I promised myself that I would write to him as soon as I got home , and in the meantime turned in at the first Café to which I came and called for breakfast .