eleven o'clock
The opium seemed to compel the kaleidoscope of life to turn more slowly ; in fact , it sharpened my senses so that they unconsciously took impressions many times more quickly and easily and accurately . As I sat there that night after leaving Anita , forcing my mind to follow the printed lines , I found I was in exactly the state in which I had been during my one experiment with opium . It seemed to me that as many days as there had been hours must have elapsed since I got the news of the raised Textile dividend . Days -- yes , weeks , even months , of thought and action seemed to have been compressed into those six hours -- for , as I sat there , it was not yet eleven o'clock . And then I realized that this notion was not of the moment , but that I had been as if under the influence of some powerful nerve stimulant since my brain began to recover from the shock of that thunderbolt . Only , where nerve stimulants often make the mind passive and disinclined to take part in the drama so vividly enacting before it , this opening of my reservoirs of reserve nervous energy had multiplied my power to act as well as my power to observe . `` I wonder how long it will last , '' thought I. And it made me uneasy , this unnatural alertness , unaccompanied by any feverishness or sense of strain .