nearly eight o'clock
She saw , a long way off , a solitary hooded sergent de ville , and dragged herself across an endless expanse of wet asphalt to ask him her way . But just before she reached him , she remembered suddenly that of course she was on the island and was obliged to cross the Seine again before reaching the right bank . She returned weary and disheartened to her path , crossed the bridge , and then endlessly , endlessly , set one heavy foot before the other under the glare of innumerable electric lights staring down on her and on the dismal , wet , and deserted streets . The clocks she passed told her that it was nearly eight o'clock . Then it was past eight . What must they be thinking of her on the Rue de Presbourg ? She tried again to hurry , but could force her aching muscles to no more than the plod , plod , plod of her dogged advance over those interminable miles of pavement .