a quarter to twelve
He watched her move about the room in search of spirit-lamp and coffee-mill . Beneath the drooping black chemise , her loose breasts swayed . `` Not that I 've much time , '' she went on , as she ground the coffee . `` It 's gone a quarter to twelve already , and I like fresh air . I do n't miss a minute of it . -- So up you get ! Here , dowse your head in this water . ''