eleven o'clock
But as he read the humble entreaties , the passionate pleading of those written words , blotted and smeared with the bitter tears of a woman 's poignant shame and anguish , Soapy 's pendent cigarette fell to the floor and lay there smouldering and forgotten , and his lips were drawn back from sharp , white teeth -- pallid lips contorted in a grin the more awful because of the great drops that welled from the fierce , half-closed eyes . Every letter he read and every word , then very methodically set them back within the faded blue ribbon and sat staring down at them with eyes wider open than usual -- eyes that saw back into the past . And as he sat thus , staring at what had been , he repeated a sentence to himself over and over again at regular intervals , speaking with a soft inflection none had ever heard from him before : `` Poor little Maggie -- poor little kid ! '' `` Past eleven o'clock , dear , '' said Hermione . `` Still so early ? '' sighed Ravenslee . They were sitting alone in the fire glow , so near that by moving his hand he could touch her where she sat curled up in the great armchair ; but he did not reach out his hand because they were alone and in the fire glow , and Hermione had never seemed quite so alluring .