about five o'clock in the morning
Read poetry , Rachel , poetry , poetry , poetry ! '' Picking up one of the books , he began to read aloud , his intention being to satirise the short sharp bark of the writer 's English ; but she paid no attention , and after an interval of meditation exclaimed : `` Does it ever seem to you , Terence , that the world is composed entirely of vast blocks of matter , and that we 're nothing but patches of light -- '' she looked at the soft spots of sun wavering over the carpet and up the wall -- `` like that ? '' `` No , '' said Terence , `` I feel solid ; immensely solid ; the legs of my chair might be rooted in the bowels of the earth . But at Cambridge , I can remember , there were times when one fell into ridiculous states of semi-coma about five o'clock in the morning . Hirst does now , I expect -- oh , no , Hirst would n't . '' Rachel continued , `` The day your note came , asking us to go on the picnic , I was sitting where you 're sitting now , thinking that ; I wonder if I could think that again ? I wonder if the world 's changed ?