Three o'clock
If any sleeper could cling to unconsciousness through the rattle of the windows and the intermittent banging of a spectral door that defied identification -- the door that always bangs in storms everywhere -- the mere movement of a cautious foot would have no effect . If unable to sleep for the wind , none would be alive to it . It would be lost in the storm ... . Three o'clock ! Did you , who read this , ever watch through a night with something on your mind you are to be forced to speak of in the morning -- a compulsion awaiting you as a lion awaiting the _ début _ of a reluctant martyr in the arena of the Coliseum ? Did you , so watching , feel -- not the tedium -- but the maddening speed of the hours , the cruelty of the striking clocks ? Were you conscious of a grateful reliance on your bedroom door , still closed between you and _ your _ lion , as the gate that the eager eyes of Rome were fixed on was still a respite from _ his _ ?