In the old days when I sat up late, I would be warned that morning was at
hand by the soft slap-slap of rubber boots of fishermen going to work. Then
came the noise of a hundred gasoline engines--first one and then another,
until they made bedlam along the whole water front. Later there was a second
lesser explosion of sound--the weir boats. In those days, if I worked late,
some one of my neighbors would say to me, reproachfully: "Seems like you don't
ever go to bed, Mis' Vorse. You work too hard. Seen your light when I went
to work." I had the feeling of friends watching over me and caring whether
I got my sleep.
--Mary Heaton Vorse, Time and the Town - A Provincetown Chronicle
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