nine o’clock
Smilash was in high spirits . He had become a proficient skater , and frosty weather was now a luxury to him . It braced him , and drove away his gloomy fits , whilst his sympathies were kept awake and his indignation maintained at an exhilarating pitch by the sufferings of the poor , who , unable to afford fires or skating , warmed themselves in such sweltering heat as overcrowding produces in all seasons . It was Smilash 's custom to make a hot drink of oatmeal and water for himself at half-past nine o'clock each evening , and to go to bed at ten . He opened the door to throw out some water that remained in the saucepan from its last cleansing . It froze as it fell upon the soil . He looked at the night , and shook himself to throw off an oppressive sensation of being clasped in the icy ribs of the air , for the mercury had descended below the familiar region of crisp and crackly cold and marked a temperature at which the numb atmosphere seemed on the point of congealing into black solidity .