the hour of twelve
_ I _ shall not rejoice or have anything more to do with you . '' But though the pen was dashed spitefully into the ink many times , the ink dried from it again , and the letter was not written ; and at last she flung the pen down and went to bed . There was no rest to be got there ; she tossed and turned from side to side , and flung her arms about this way and that , and finding the bedclothes too oppressive kicked them off . At length the bedroom clock told the hour of twelve in its slow soft musical language . And still she tossed and turned until it struck one . She rose and drew aside the window-curtains to let the pale starlight shine into the room , and then going back to bed sat propped up with the pillows . `` Must I really wait all that time , '' she said , `` sitting still , eating my own heart -- wait through half of September , October , November , December -- only to put my neck under the yoke at last ?