“And you’ll think of me when I’m gone, won’t you, sir—when you go to bed at night?” she said.
“Think of you?” said I. “You may well call it a travelling-rug. I only have to wrap this round me and, with the mere wish of it, I shall be in the land of dreams—millions and millions of miles away.”
“P’raps I shall be there, too,” said she, clasping her hands.
“And then we’ll meet,” said I.
She began folding it up with just that care which she had used in the making of it. She folded it one way.
“It’s nice and warm,” said she.
She doubled it another way.
“Every one of the squares is lined with sateen.”
She redoubled it once more.