"It was time to wind the clock. This ritual had been observed by many over several centuries. The pressure she applied to her fingers as she turned the brass winder slowly and carefully with the aged wooden knob; the heavy weights rose upon their waxed strings - 14 winds equalling one week. The clicking of the cogs, the cautious rising of the weights upon the string, all this meaning yet the loss of another week of life. Without the steady tick the heart of the house was gone. She had been winding the clock weekly for nigh on twenty years. Sometimes she pondered upon previous owners, other slaves to the continuing heartbeat. There must have been so many, it was imperative that the clock continued ticking, since it was the god of the house. The rusty gasp it gave just before announcing the hour. Surely the house would be dead without it." Slowly she set down her pen and gazed into the fire...... "The Hours".............time, time passing...........and Leonard had been annoyed with her this morning and departed to Charleston........she really couldn't help her little turns, a good dose of writing usually cured it.