a
quarter to twelve
He was the kind who could not `` put anything across . '' All her complacency was gone as she opened the tea-room door . She was hot and tired and hurried . The little clock on the mantelshelf said a quarter to twelve as she closed the door behind her and then she saw that there was a customer at a far table in the corner and realized how late she was . A short , fat little woman was sitting tensely on the edge of a chair , looking about her with quick , restless , stabbing glances . She had on an atrocity of a hat that looked as though someone had plumped down on her head a flimsy crate of refuse blossoms and vegetables . It was a riot of colour and disorder .