“Are you serious?” “Completely.” “You’re telling me that you'll get to sleep on a king-sized bed while we have to share a tiny room with two bunk beds.” “I want to sleep on top!” “Tommy, you’re not helping.”
I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights