twelve o'clock
There is no one in all our race who resembles her . '' At half past eleven in the morning he would dismiss his grandson , and putting on his tall hat , black silk in winter and beaver in summer , he would sally forth to take a stroll along the streets of Palma , always through the same locality and along identical pavements , rain or shine , insensible to cold and to heat , wearing his frock coat in every weather , continuing on his way with the regularity of a clock automaton which steps out , travels his little course , and then conceals himself at the stroke of certain hours . Only once in thirty years had he varied his route through the white and deserted sunny streets . One morning he had heard a woman 's voice issuing from the interior of a house : `` Atlota -- twelve o'clock ; Don Horacio is passing . Put on the rice . '' He turned toward the door , saying with lordly gravity : `` I 'm no wench 's clock ! '' He jerked out the abusive words without sacrificing any of his dignity .