four o'clock
A rattlepate , old Sharon called her . She was something else now ; some curious sort of woman , older , not afraid . She would n't care any more if people were impatient . At four o'clock of that morning the bombardment of the front line gave way to a rolling barrage . Close behind this , hugging it , as the men said , came gray waves of the enemy . It was quieter after the barrage had passed : only the tack-tack of machine guns and the clash of meeting bayonets . `` Going to have some rough stuff , '' said Private Brennon .