seven o'clock
As he turned homeward , he thrust his hand , yet warm with the touch of her bare arm , into his pocket , drew out two pearls , looked tenderly at them and felt their smooth , rounded forms . A longing for such companionship in work with his wife swept his soul . When Gordon started home from his round of visits with Kate the wind had hauled to the north and it began to spit drops of snow . The cars were still crowded , the aisles full and the platforms jammed , though it was seven o'clock . He buttoned his coat about his neck and paced the station , waiting for a train in which he could find a seat . `` Bad omen for my trustee meeting to-night , '' he muttered . `` This air feels like Van Meter 's breath . ''