one
o'clock
It was really discomposing . One night again Pettit sauntered in , yawning . As he had told me before , he said he felt that he could do a great story , and as before I hunted him to his room and saw him open his inkstand . At one o'clock the sheets of paper slid under my door . I read that story , and I jumped up , late as it was , with a whoop of joy . Old Pettit had done it . Just as though it lay there , red and bleeding , a woman 's heart was written into the lines .