Tell Him I Hate Him To His

Really Rather Fascinating, You Know,' He Confided, And I Recognized, With An Internal Sigh, The Song Of The Scholar, As Identifying A Sound As The Terr-whit! Of A Thrush.

While Ye Sleep In My Arms, I Can Say Things To Ye That Would Be Daft And Silly Waking, And Your Dreams Will Know The Truth Of Them.

...well, If Women's Work Was Never Done, Why Trouble About How Much Of It Wasn't Being Accomplished At Any Given Moment?

It Has Always Been Forever, For Me, Sassenach

I Do Know It, My Own. Let Me Tell Ye In Your Sleep How Much I Love You. For There's No So Much I Can Be Saying To Ye While Ye Wake, But The Same Poor Words, Again And Again. While Ye Sleep In My Arms, I Can Say Things To Ye That Would Be Daft And Silly Waking, And Your Dreams Will Know The Truth Of Them. Go Back To Sleep, Mo Duinne.