two o'clock
When I had first heard the clear , soft tones of her voice at the window , I must have known that my meeting with her was a new and decisive experience . I had always idealised a certain type of woman , and perhaps for that reason I had always held back from the possible disillusions of an exploring intimacy . But my recognition of Anne had nothing in common with all my old deliberately romantic searchings for a theoretical affinity . If I had been asked at any time before two o'clock that morning to define my ideal , the definition would not have described Anne . Indeed , I could never have imagined her . She was altogether too individual , too positive , too independently real , to fit the mawkish vapourings of a man 's imaginary woman . There was something about her that conquered me .