midnight
Once , in her absence , Mrs. Neugass had pressed out her dark-brown-cloth coat suit , wrinkled from weeks in her suitcase , and which she had left hanging before the open window . The print of these kindly people was like an indelible rubber stamp into the premises . Mr. Neugass had already presented her with a jar of Millie face cream and a preparation for cleaning kid gloves . Sundays she was invariably importuned to dine with the family , and of occasional evenings , Alma Neugass , angular and full of the knobs of protruding neckbones , elbows , and shoulder blades , and with little sacs under her eyes as if she had wept down into them that life could be so tasteless , would knock at her door , and for an hour or two , and sometimes up to midnight , sit on the edge of Lilly 's bed , the drone of their conversation surviving repeated rappings from the parental bedroom , adjoining . There was something about Alma of an old glove just about ready to breathe out and flatten from the print of a recent hand . Fifteen years of debit and credit and days which swung with pendulum fidelity within the arc of routine had creased and dried her of sap . The whiteness of Lilly and the swift , shining , backward rush of her hair were a source of wistful and vicarious delight to her .