six o'clock
`` Semifonte , '' says Bob , `` and as mad as a March hare . '' I got up at once . I said , `` I shall kill Count Giraldi . '' We met in the Cascine at six o'clock of a foggy morning ; the light bad , the ground heavy from a night 's rain . The marchese wore black , I remember , and looked horrible ; a wan , doomed face , a mouth drawn down at one corner , a slavered , untidy red beard ; and those wide fish-eyes of his which seemed to see nothing . Count Giraldi bore himself gallantly , as he always did . I was extremely cool .