“The sound of the living room clock striking midnight could not reach them; they never had permission to speak at all, and they lay in silence until another year had passed and they stood once more beneath the tree.”
“All the time Midnight was silently pulling on his white stockings and buckling his shoes. Now he straightened up, but continued to act as if she didn’t exist, though she’d been forced to move as he moved. It was humiliating.”
“Midnight, tall and still against a background of copper pans hanging on the wall, looked directly at Jess. She caught her breath. They were the same. Ordered about. Both of them. From morn till night. Birth till death. For always and ever.”
“It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that to-night, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?”
“By-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time was passing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch; it was within a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences.”