a quarter to five
she screamed and made a rush for the door . She had shot the bolt back , her hand was on the knob , when he caught her . His grip was like iron , hopeless to resist , but she writhed , tore at him , felt herself pressed back against the wall , his fingers on her throat . It was a quarter to five on the morning of April 18 , 1906 . The first low rumble , the vibration beneath his feet , did not penetrate his madness . Then came a road , an enormous agglomeration of sound and movement , an unloosing of titanic elements -- above them , under them , on them . They were separated , each stricken aghast , no longer enemies , beings of a mutual life seized by a mutual terror .