8:19
Why do n't you get out ? '' And from her , her eyes narrowed to two slits , her cheeks scarlet : `` Why , thanks . I guess I will . '' Ten minutes later he had flung out of the house to catch the 8:19 for Manitowoc . He marched down the street , his shoulders swinging rhythmically to the weight of the burden he carried -- his black leather handbag and the shiny tan sample case , battle-scarred , both , from many encounters with ruthless porters and busmen and bellboys . For four years , as he left for his semi-monthly trip , he and Terry had observed a certain little ceremony -LRB- as had the neighbors -RRB- . She would stand in the doorway , watching him down the street , the heavier sample case banging occasionally at his shin .