the hour of one
Never , since we came into Provence , had I been able so clearly to realize the wild fascination of her haggard beauty . `` Here Marius stood in his camp , '' I thought , `` shading his eyes from the fierce sun , and looking out over this strange , arid country for the Barbarians he meant to conquer . '' My heart beat with an intoxicating excitement , such as one feels on seeing great mountains or the ocean for the first time ; and then down I tumbled , with a bump , off my pedestal , when Lady Turnour wanted to know what I supposed she 'd brought me for , if not to put on her extra cloak without waiting to be told . Watches are really luxuries , not necessities , with the Turnours , because their appetites always strike the hour of one , and if they 're sometimes a little in advance , they can be relied upon never to be behindhand . I knew before I glanced at the little bracelet-watch Pamela gave me -LRB- hidden under my sleeve -RRB- that it must be on the stroke of half-past twelve when her ladyship began to complain of the sharp wind , and say we had better be getting back to St. Remy . She was cross , as usual when she is hungry , and said that if I continued to go about `` like a snail in a dream '' whenever she fetched me to carry her things on these short expeditions , she would leave me in the hotel to mend her clothes ; whereupon I became actually servile in my ministrations . I brushed a microscopic speck of dust off her gown ; I pushed in a hairpin ; I tucked up a flying end of veil ; I straightened her toque , and made myself altogether indispensable ; for the bare idea of being left behind was a box on the ear .