ten minutes to eleven
In any clash between us , Di always won , because she was `` grown up , '' and I was a `` little girl '' ; but the trick she had played on me this time roused my sense of its injustice , and with all my body and mind and soul I resolved to strengthen my soul against her . `` Some day , '' I said to myself , letting the tears dry on my cheeks as I listened to a spirit of prophecy , `` some day there 'll be a battle for life or death between our characters , Di 's and mine , and I 'll save myself up to win _ then _ . '' It seemed weak , as if I were a whipped child , to creep off to bed , yet I could n't force myself to read , or do anything to turn my thoughts from the great injustice . At ten minutes to eleven I was making up my mind that , after all , sleep would be the best consolation , when our lodging-house landlady knocked . We had the `` drawing-room floor , '' up one flight of stairs from the street . Luckily I was still in the draw-dining-room -- a fantastic apartment crowded with nouveau-art furniture all out of drawing , like daddy longlegs -- when the woman tapped and peeped in . If I had gone upstairs to my own top-floor room , I 'm sure , being a prim person , she would have considered it improper to summon me down , and I should have missed a heavenly half hour .