six
o'clock
If it was n't for my hands I 'd be nothing but a great lumbering , lazy mass of palpitating heart . '' But her making had become every year more and more expensive . Her beautiful , pitiful embroideries were paid for in bad nights . And at six o'clock that morning she had given her little dismal cry : `` Oh , Nanna , Nanna , my beast of a spine is going to bother me to-day , and it 's Anne 's birthday ! '' `` And what else , '' said Nanna severely , `` do you expect , Miss Edith ? '' `` I did n't expect this . I do believe it 's getting worse . ''