eleven o’clock
How to look , what to think , what to say , his mind could not determine . The most simple and ordinary act , to take his father by the hand , to kiss him , and to say , `` How do you do , father ? '' seemed to him unspeakably horrible in its monstrous , inhuman , absurd deceitfulness . After the sentence the condemned were not placed together in one cell , as Tanya Kovalchuk had supposed they would be , but each was put in solitary confinement , and all the morning , until eleven o'clock , when his parents came , Sergey Golovin paced his cell furiously , tugged at his beard , frowned pitiably and muttered inaudibly . Sometimes he would stop abruptly , would breathe deeply and then exhale like a man who has been too long under water . But he was so healthy , his young life was so strong within him , that even in the moments of most painful suffering his blood played under his skin , reddening his cheeks , and his blue eyes shone brightly and frankly . But everything was far different from what he had anticipated .