"Or you might wake, to-morrow morning, with a sense of something wanting, and even this unpretending volume might be able to supply it.

You will let me leave the book, aunt?
The doctor can hardly object to that!" I slipped it under the sofa cushions, half in, and half out, close by her handkerchief, and her smelling-bottle.

Every time her hand searched for either of these, it would touch the book; and, sooner or later (who knows ?) the book might touch HER.

After making this arrangement, I thought it wise to withdraw.

"Let me leave you to repose, dear aunt; I will call again to-morrow." I looked accidentally towards the window as I said that.