nine o'clock
It was a wonderful day and somewhere streams were flowing under dark protecting trees , and the grass was thick in cool hollows and the woods were so dense that no blue sky reached the moss , but only the softest twilight ... and old Aitchinson , the town 's solicitor , with his nutcracker face , his snuffling nose , his false teeth -- and the tightly-closed office , the piles of paper , the ink , the silly view from the dusty windows of Treliss High Street -- and life always in the future to be like that until he died . But Peter showed no emotion . `` Very well , father -- What day do I go ? '' `` Monday -- nine o'clock . '' Nothing more was said . At any rate Aitchinson and his red tape and his moral dust would fill the day -- no time then to dwell on these dark passages and Mrs. Trussit 's frightened eyes and the startled jump of the marble clock in the dining-room just before it struck the hour ... And so for weeks it proved .