The shadow of the sash fell across the curtains between 7 and 8 oclock, and then I was
hearing the watch, again, <But I didn't> and I lay there looking at the sinister bar across
the rosy and motionless curtains, listening to the watch. Hearing it, that is. I dont suppose
anybody deliberately listens to a watch or a clock. You dont have to. You can be oblivious
to the sound for a long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind un-
broken the long diminishing parade of time you did not hear. Where up the long and
lonely arrowing of light rays you might see Jesus walking, like. The True Son of Man: he
had no sister. Nazarene and Roman and Virginian, they had no sister one minute she was

Beyond the wall Shreve's bedsprings complained thinly, then his carpet slippers on the floor. I
got up and went to the dresser and slid Had no sister my hand along it and touched the
watch and turned it face down upon the dresser and went back to bed. As soon as I knew I
couldn't see it that constant speculation as to what mechanical hour it is which seems to be a
part of every [illegible] man's mind, set up again. All right, I wonder what time it is. What
about it? Nazarene and Roman and Virginian. <Caesar. Praetorians Centurians. slew none of ye:
[margin: Ye were none of ye crucified:]
ye were
worn away by a minute <tic> clicking of little wheels.

The curtains were like rosy gauze and then I was thinking it would be nice for them down
at New London if the weather held up like this why shouldn't it the month of brides the voice
that <She was running when I heard it, th the mirror she was running before I knew what
it was her train caught up over her arm then out of the mirror like a cloud along the
arrested stares her veil swirling> out of the mirror running out of the banked scent and
the voice that breathed o'er eden Shreve stood in the door, pulling his collar on, his glasses
glinting as though he had <just> washed them <also.> <wit> along with his face.

"You taking a cut this morning?"

"Is it that late?"

He looked at his watch. "Bell in two minutes.

"I didn't know it was that late." He was still looking at his watch, his mouth shaping

"I'll have to hustle. I cant stand another cut. The dean told me ——" He put the watch
back.

"You'd better slip on your coat and pants and run." He went out.

I got up and moved about until he crossed the sitting room.

"You ready yet?"

"Not yet. Run along. I'll make it."

He went on. The door opened, closed upon his feet. I quit moving about and went to the window
and drew the curtains aside. <The quad was full> and watched them running for chapel, the
same ones rushing past at the last minute, and Spoade in the middle of them like a turtle
in a street full of scuttering leaves, his coat collar about his ears, moving at his customary
unhurried walk. He was from South Carolina, a senior. It was his class' boast that he never