nine
o’clock
I must not remain forever a recluse , for similar chances have come my way before . I remember how , when a little girl at school , I used to go home on Sundays and spend the time in frisking and dancing about . Sometimes my mother would chide me for so doing , but I did not care , for my heart was too joyous , and my spirits too buoyant , for that . Yet as the evening of Sunday came on , a sadness as of death would overtake me , for at nine o'clock I had to return to school , where everything was cold and strange and severe -- where the governesses , on Mondays , lost their tempers , and nipped my ears , and made me cry . On such occasions I would retire to a corner and weep alone ; concealing my tears lest I should be called lazy . Yet it was not because I had to study that I used to weep , and in time I grew more used to things , and , after my schooldays were over , shed tears only when I was parting with friends ... . It is not right for me to live in dependence upon you .