eleven o'clock
How the ground was rough and the bushes thorny , how the berries blacked their lips and the prickles lacerated their fingers , and the stains of blackberry juice were spoiling gloves and dresses and all they had on . `` I never imagined , '' said Mrs. Reverdy with a gay laugh , `` that picking blackberries was such a serious business . O dear ! and it 's only just eleven o'clock now . And I am so hungry ! '' `` Eat blackberries , '' said Gertrude , who was doing it diligently . `` But I want to carry some home . ''