Nine a.m
Doctor Spechaug stopped running , breathing deeply and easily where he paused in the middle of the narrow winding road . He glanced at his watch . Nine a.m. . He was vaguely perplexed because he did not react more emotionally to the blood staining his slender hands . It was fresh blood , though just beginning to coagulate ; it was dabbled over his brown serge suit , splotching the neatly starched white cuffs of his shirt . His wife always did them up so nicely with the peasant 's love for trivial detail .