about eleven o’clock
Society , it is true , will not forgive people their past , but in the sight of God St. Mary of Egypt is no lower than the other saints . When it had happened to Vassilyev in the street to recognize a fallen woman as such , by her dress or her manners , or to see a picture of one in a comic paper , he always remembered a story he had once read : a young man , pure and self-sacrificing , loves a fallen woman and urges her to become his wife ; she , considering herself unworthy of such happiness , takes poison . Vassilyev lived in one of the side streets turning out of Tverskoy Boulevard . When he came out of the house with his two friends it was about eleven o'clock . The first snow had not long fallen , and all nature was under the spell of the fresh snow . There was the smell of snow in the air , the snow crunched softly under the feet ; the earth , the roofs , the trees , the seats on the boulevard , everything was soft , white , young , and this made the houses look quite different from the day before ; the street lamps burned more brightly , the air was more transparent , the carriages rumbled with a deeper note , and with the fresh , light , frosty air a feeling stirred in the soul akin to the white , youthful , feathery snow . `` Against my will an unknown force , '' hummed the medical student in his agreeable tenor , `` has led me to these mournful shores . ''