“It’s too warm,” she murmurs, in the middle of the night. “Turn down the heater.” I am still half asleep, dreaming of a banquet, a splendid banquet. My mind rebels. I wish to return. “Too warm,” she repeats, and I open my eyes, close them again, I visualize getting up, fumbling for the light, walking unsteadily into the next room. My mind rebels. It is a splendid banquet, in a splendid hall. We lack for nothing. I wish to return. “Throw off the blanket,” I answer, groggily, and sink back to sleep, and the banquet, and the splendor.