Twenty past three
Interrupted , she looked up with a start that all but spilled the ink and cried in a voice heavily coloured with the enervating brogue of the Southern born : `` My land , Sally ! _ What _ time is it ? '' In the act of unpinning her hat -LRB- a straw that even a drowning woman would have hesitated to grasp at -RRB- Miss Manvers paused to consult an invalid alarm-clock which was suffering palpitations on an adjacent shelf . `` Twenty past three , '' she reported , sententious . The artist cocked her head , squinted malevolently at her drawing , dipped , and busily scratched once more . `` Scared me , '' she explained : `` coming home so early ! '' Sally removed her collar with a wrench and a grunt : `` Got a date ? ''