six o'clock
`` I thought 't was the other sort that did that , '' observed Miss Polly , fresh from the perusal of the Sunday newspapers ; `` Dukes and society men and the sons of millionaires . '' `` Perhaps . Maybe they 're all alike , '' and taking up her umbrella , Gabriella started bravely out into the storm . At six o'clock , when she struggled back along Twenty-third Street , the wind had changed , and the storm driving furiously down the long blocks caught her in a whirl of blinding snowflakes . In the swirling whiteness of the distance , the black outlines of the city appeared remote and shadowy , while the waning lights , which shone like dim moons at the crossing , revealed the ghostly figures of a few struggling pedestrians . The gate was open , and she had almost reached it , when the lurching form of a man , emerging suddenly from the storm , was flung against her with such violence that she fell back for support on the icy railing of the yard . Then , as the obscure figure , drawing away from her with a staggering motion , began fumbling blindly at the gate , she caught sight of a ghastly face , which looked as if it had been stricken by an incurable illness .