eight o'clock
Downstairs once more she plunged into an orgy of cleaning . Dishes , table , stove , floor , rugs . She washed , scoured , swabbed , polished . By eight o'clock she had done the work that would ordinarily have taken until noon . The house was shining , orderly , and redolent of soapsuds . During all this time she had been listening , listening , with her subconscious ear . Listening for something she had refused to name definitely in her mind , but listening , just the same ; waiting .