eleven o'clock
This was awful . The heat had a positive and brassy quality , there was no air stirring . The children in the Park would drag home in the hot sunset light , tired , dirty , whining , and a breathless evening follow the burning day . Then Martie and Mrs. Curley and mild little Mr. Bull and bellicose Mr. Snow would perhaps sit on the steps until eleven o'clock , exchanging pleasantries with various neighbours , wilted like themselves in the furnace of the day . Martie liked the sense of extremes , as they all did . In a few months they would be shaking their heads over a blizzard with the same solemn enjoyment . She liked the suddenly darkening sky , the ominous rattle of thunder ; `` like boxes being smashed , '' she wrote Sally .