three o'clock
Slowly , slowly , Andrea went up , standing still every two or three steps , as if he were dragging a terrible weight after him . He went into his rooms and threw himself on his bed , where he remained till a quarter to three . At a quarter to three he got up and went out . He turned into the Via Sistina , on through the Via Quattro Fontane , passed the Palazzo Barberini and stopped before a book-stall to wait for three o'clock . The bookseller , a little wrinkled , dried-up old man , like a decrepit tortoise , offered him books , taking down his choicest volumes one by one , and spreading them out under his eyes , speaking all the time in an insufferable nasal monotone . Three o'clock would strike directly ; Andrea looked at the titles of the books , keeping an eye on the gates of the palace , while the voice of the bookseller mingled confusedly with the loud thumping of his heart . A lady passed through the gates , went down the street towards the piazza , got into a cab , and drove away through the Via del Tritone .