eleven o’clock
Neither he nor any one else shall find me here ! '' yet still one goes on stripping juicy berries from their conical white pilasters , and cramming them into one 's mouth . At length , one 's legs soaked to the knees as one repeats , over and over again , some rubbish which keeps running in one 's head , and one 's hands and nether limbs -LRB- despite the protection of one 's wet trousers -RRB- thoroughly stung with the nettles , one comes to the conclusion that the sun 's rays are beating too straight upon one 's head for eating to be any longer desirable , and , sinking down into the tangle of greenery , one remains there -- looking and listening , and continuing in mechanical fashion to strip off one or two of the finer berries and swallow them . At eleven o'clock -- that is to say , when the ladies had taken their morning tea and settled down to their occupations -- I would repair to the drawing-room . Near the first window , with its unbleached linen blind lowered to exclude the sunshine , but through the chink of which the sun kept throwing brilliant circles of light which hurt the eye to look at them , there would be standing a screen , with flies quietly parading the whiteness of its covering . Behind it would be seated Mimi , shaking her head in an irritable manner , and constantly shifting from spot to spot to avoid the sunshine as at intervals it darted her from somewhere and laid a streak of flame upon her hand or face . Through the other three windows the sun would be throwing three squares of light , crossed with the shadows of the window-frames , and where one of these patches marked the unstained floor of the room there would be lying , in accordance with invariable custom , Milka , with her ears pricked as she watched the flies promenading the lighted space .