eight o'clock
He made groping movements to get out of his chair . But he was crying uncontrollably , noiselessly , with his face twisted like a mask , contorted and the tears running down the amazing grooves in his cheeks . Blindly , his face always this horrible working mask , he groped for his hat , for his way down from the terrace . It was eight o'clock , but still brightly light . The other people were staring . In great agitation , part of which was exasperation , she stayed behind , paid the waiter with a half-sovereign , took her yellow silk coat , then followed Skrebensky . She saw him walking with brittle , blind steps along the path by the river .