a quarter to seven
`` Very good , '' he said . `` Tell Quan any name you like . '' The name she did tell him was Doris Dane . It was a quarter to seven when she came out through the white doors into North Clark Street . The thing that woke her out of a sort of daze as she trudged along toward her room in the unrelenting rain was a pleasurable smell of fried onions ; whereupon she realized that she was legitimately and magnificently hungry . In any other condition , the dingy little lunch-room she presently turned into , would hardly have invited her . But the spots on the frayed starchy table-cloth , the streakiness of the glasses , the necessity of polishing knife and fork upon her damp napkin , could n't prevent her doing ample justice to a small thick platter of ham and eggs , and a plate of thicker wheat-cakes .