eleven in the evening
`` Not at any rate till I get to Castle Richmond , '' he said , blushing . He had so completely abandoned all thought of being Sir Herbert Fitzgerald , that he had now almost felt ashamed of saying that he should so far presume as to call himself by that name . And then he and Mr. Prendergast went away and dined together , leaving Mr. Die to complete his legal work for the day . At this he would often sit till nine or ten , or even eleven in the evening , without any apparent ill results from such effects , and then go home to his dinner and port wine . He was already nearly seventy , and work seemed to have no effect on him . In what Medea 's caldron is it that the great lawyers so cook themselves , that they are able to achieve half an immortality , even while the body still clings to the soul ? Mr. Die , though he would talk of his bald head , had no idea of giving way to time .