About
nine o'clock
Let her go , I do n't care , and the sooner the better . '' He countermanded the supper and went to bed before it was dark , lighting his lamp , on the chair near the head of the bed , and opening his `` Copperfield '' at the place marked by the strip of paper torn from the bag of prunes . For upward of an hour he read the novel , methodically swallowing one prune every time he reached the bottom of a page . About nine o'clock he blew out the lamp and , punching up his pillow , settled himself for the night . Then , as his mind relaxed in that strange , hypnotic condition that comes just before sleep , a series of pictures of the day 's doings passed before his imagination like the roll of a kinetoscope . First , it was Hilma Tree , as he had seen her in the dairy-house -- charming , delicious , radiant of youth , her thick , white neck with its pale amber shadows under the chin ; her wide , open eyes rimmed with fine , black lashes ; the deep swell of her breast and hips , the delicate , lustrous floss on her cheek , impalpable as the pollen of a flower . He saw her standing there in the scintillating light of the morning , her smooth arms wet with milk , redolent and fragrant of milk , her whole , desirable figure moving in the golden glory of the sun , steeped in a lambent flame , saturated with it , glowing with it , joyous as the dawn itself .