about eight o'clock
The white lilies in the jar were beginning to fade , yet they still exuded a pure and strong perfume . Coupeau 's heavy snores were heard like the regular ticking of a huge clock , setting the tempo for the heavy labor in the shop . On the morrow of his carouses , the zinc-worker always had a headache , a splitting headache which kept him all day with his hair uncombed , his breath offensive , and his mouth all swollen and askew . He got up late on those days , not shaking the fleas off till about eight o'clock ; and he would hang about the shop , unable to make up his mind to start off to his work . It was another day lost . In the morning he would complain that his legs bent like pieces of thread , and would call himself a great fool to guzzle to such an extent , as it broke one 's constitution . Then , too , there were a lot of lazy bums who would n't let you go and you 'd get to drinking more in spite of yourself .