She said she'd surely sleep upset, but I recalled she had that charming nature which forgets with ease a thoughtless epithet; so I smirked a bit, I wagered she would shortly sleep and not regret crass nomenclature, warm in our eiderdown plicature. And she (all laugh and sidelong threat,) replied a thousand years would not assuage her ire – and yet she seemed unsure and sleep-beset, and lay against the wall, a shoulder curved. I watched; and, mindful of the bet, she smoldered, pressed between the bed and molding, until a line of weary fret passed across her face – let sleep enfold her, smoothed her, let her be a childlike still coquette who smiled then in her sleep, and did forget - and so I woke her up and told her.