“I am thinking over your goodness to me.”
“Are you better now?”
“That I am. The place was a tomb; since you came it is only a closet. I can't see your face—I feel it, though; and your voice is music to me. Have you nothing to say to me, sir?”
“I have many things to say to you; but this is not the time. I want you to sleep.”
“Why, sir?”
“Sleep is the balm of mind and body—you need sleep.”
“And you, sir?”
“I shall sit here.”
“You will take your death of cold.”
“No, I have my greatcoat.”