ten o'clock
In the afternoon the fog became of an impenetrable thickness , and beyond the shop it seemed that there was pandemonium . Some fire , blazing at some street corner , flared as though it were the beating heart of all that darkness , and the cries of men and the slow , clumsy passing of the traffic filled the bookshop with sound . No customers came ; Herr Gottfried worked away at his desk , the brass clock ticked , Peter sat listening , waiting . Herr Gottfried broke the silence once with : `` Peter , my friend , at ten o'clock to-night there will be a little music in my room . Herr Dettzolter and his ` cello -- a little Brahms -- if the fog is not too much for you . '' Peter accepted . He loved the low-roofed attic , the clouds of tobacco , the dark corner where he sat and listened to Herr Gottfried 's friends -LRB- German exiles like Herr Gottfried playing their beloved music -RRB- .