.

.

Not that I care especially.

What a quaint habit sleeping is." She had formed the habit long ago of holding these inner conversations.
Her father had been a silent man, and often as she faced him at meals Ethel had talked and talked to herself in quite as animated a way as though she were saying it all aloud.

Now she sat up suddenly in bed and turned on the light just over her head, and amiably she surveyed her room.