ten minutes
to ten
At Westland Row Station a crowd of people pressed to the carriage doors ; but the porters moved them back , saying that it was a special train for the bazaar . I remained alone in the bare carriage . In a few minutes the train drew up beside an improvised wooden platform . I passed out on to the road and saw by the lighted dial of a clock that it was ten minutes to ten . In front of me was a large building which displayed the magical name . I could not find any sixpenny entrance and , fearing that the bazaar would be closed , I passed in quickly through a turnstile , handing a shilling to a weary-looking man . I found myself in a big hall girdled at half its height by a gallery .