ten
o'clock
The breakfast was eaten in the kitchen , on the round deal table covered with the shiny oilcloth table-spread tacked on . After breakfast the dentist immediately betook himself to his `` Parlors '' to meet his early morning appointments -- those made with the clerks and shop girls who stopped in for half an hour on their way to their work . Trina , meanwhile , busied herself about the suite , clearing away the breakfast , sponging off the oilcloth table-spread , making the bed , pottering about with a broom or duster or cleaning rag . Towards ten o'clock she opened the windows to air the rooms , then put on her drab jacket , her little round turban with its red wing , took the butcher 's and grocer 's books from the knife basket in the drawer of the kitchen table , and descended to the street , where she spent a delicious hour -- now in the huge market across the way , now in the grocer 's store with its fragrant aroma of coffee and spices , and now before the counters of the haberdasher 's , intent on a bit of shopping , turning over ends of veiling , strips of elastic , or slivers of whalebone . On the street she rubbed elbows with the great ladies of the avenue in their beautiful dresses , or at intervals she met an acquaintance or two -- Miss Baker , or Heise 's lame wife , or Mrs. Ryer . At times she passed the flat and looked up at the windows of her home , marked by the huge golden molar that projected , flashing , from the bay window of the `` Parlors . '' She saw the open windows of the sitting-room , the Nottingham lace curtains stirring and billowing in the draft , and she caught sight of Maria Macapa 's towelled head as the Mexican maid-of-all-work went to and fro in the suite , sweeping or carrying away the ashes .