two o'clock
in the afternoon
It shows the touch of age and dust . Built for a dwelling , it is now a factory . I do not know what is made there ; the things that are commonly made in a factory , I suppose . I only know that at two o'clock in the afternoon of every day but Sunday it is full of activity and clatter ; pulsations of some great engine shake it and there are recurrent screams of wood tormented by the saw . At the window on which the man fixes an intensely expectant gaze nothing ever appears ; the glass , in truth , has such a coating of dust that it has long ceased to be transparent . The man looks at it without stopping ; he merely keeps turning his head more and more backward as he leaves the building behind . Passing along to the next corner , he turns to the left , goes round the block , and comes back till he reaches the point diagonally across the street from the factory -- point on his former course , which he then retraces , looking frequently backward over his right shoulder at the window while it is in sight .