All the morning long she thought of Paul.
At eight o'clock he climbed the dismal stairs of Jordan's Surgical Appliance Factory, and stood helplessly against the first great parcel-rack, waiting for somebody to pick him up.

The place was still not awake.

Over the counters were great dust sheets.

Two men only had arrived, and were heard talking in a corner, as they took off their coats and rolled up their shirt-sleeves.

It was ten past eight.
Evidently there was no rush of punctuality.