five o'clock
It was a frosty night with a bitter wind rising in the east and blowing up Oxford Street . His attic under the icicled tiles was dark and narrow as the grave . And on the other side of the thin wall a Hunger , more infernal and malignant than his own , waited stealthily for its prey . It was five o'clock , and Dicky Pilkington was at his ease stretched before the fire in a low chair in the drawing-room of the flat he now habitually shared with Poppy Grace . It was beatitude to lie there with his legs nicely toasting , to have his tea -LRB- which he did not drink -RRB- poured out for him by the most popular little variety actress in London , and to know that she had found in him her master . This evening , his intellect in play under many genial influences , Dicky was once more raising the pæan of Finance . Under some piquant provocation , too ; for Poppy had just informed him , that she `` did n't fancy his business . ''