two o'clock
Nothing less than a book . A few hours ' work in the keen air of a late autumn morning removed the swelling from my eyes and the pain from my temples , but the idea of relieving my feelings in writing had taken firm root in my brain . It was not my first attempt in this direction . Two years previously I had purloined paper and sneaked out of bed every night at one or two o'clock to write a prodigious novel in point of length and detail , in which a full-fledged hero and heroine performed the duties of a hero and heroine in the orthodox manner . Knowing our circumstances , my grandmother was accustomed , when writing to me , to enclose a stamp to enable me to reply . These I saved , and with them sent my book to the leading Sydney publisher . After waiting many weeks I received a polite memo to the effect that the story showed great ability , but the writer 's inexperience was too much in evidence for publication .