about eleven o'clock
I looked at Mame and I noticed that desperate look on her face that a girl always wears when she passes an ice-cream lair . I knew that poor girl was hungry -- maybe for the first time in her life . There was that anxious look in her eye that a woman has only when she has missed a meal or feels her skirt coming unfastened in the back . `` It was about eleven o'clock or so on the second night when we sat , gloomy , in our shipwrecked cabin . I kept jerking my mind away from the subject of food , but it kept flopping back again before I could fasten it . I thought of everything good to eat I had ever heard of . I went away back to my kidhood and remembered the hot biscuit sopped in sorghum and bacon gravy with partiality and respect .