about six o'clock in the evening
I may as well fling down my pen -- I am writing to no purpose . And these thoughts came over my mind so often , that at last , in utter despair , I flung down the pen . Whereupon the tempter within me said -- `` And , now you have flung down the pen , you may as well fling yourself out of the window ; what remains for you to do ? '' Why to take it up again , thought I to myself , for I did not like the latter suggestion at all -- and then forthwith I resumed the pen , and wrote with greater vigour than before , from about six o'clock in the evening until I could hardly see , when I rested for a while , when the tempter within me again said , or appeared to say -- `` All you have been writing is stuff , it will never do -- a drug -- a mere drug ; '' and methought these last words were uttered in the gruff tones of the big publisher . `` A thing merely to be sneezed at , '' a voice like that of Taggart added ; and then I seemed to hear a sternutation , -- as I probably did , for , recovering from a kind of swoon , I found myself shivering with cold . The next day I brought my work to a conclusion . But the task of revision still remained ; for an hour or two I shrank from it , and remained gazing stupidly at the pile of paper which I had written over .