midnight
At night he dreaded the return to the draughtless room on Grove Street . In the morning , rising sticky-eyed and unrested , he shrank from the thought of the humid , dusty , unkempt hurly-burly of the office . Yet his work was never more brilliant and individual . Having finished his writing , one reeking midnight , he sat , spent , at his desk , hating the thought of the shut-in place that he called home . Better to spend the night on a bench in some square , as he had done often enough in the earlier days . He rose , took his hat , and had reached the first landing when the steps wavered and faded in front of him and he found himself clutching for the rail . A pair of hands gripped his shoulders and held him up .