Had I packed my tooth-brush?
I don't know how it is, but I never do know whether I've packed my tooth-brush.
My tooth-brush is a thing that haunts me when I'm travelling, and makes my life a misery.

I dream that I haven't packed it, and wake up in a cold perspiration, and get out of bed and hunt for it.

And, in the morning, I pack it before I have used it, and have to unpack again to get it, and it is always the last thing I turn out of the bag; and then I repack and forget it, and have to rush upstairs for it at the last moment and carry it to the railway station, wrapped up in my pocket-handkerchief.
[Picture: Boot] Of course I had to turn every mortal thing out now, and, of course, I could not find it.

I rummaged the things up into much the same state that they must have been before the world was created, and when chaos reigned.

Of course, I found George's and Harris's eighteen times over, but I couldn't find my own.