could speak if she wanted to, but she had decided to wait until she was quarter-past-one. The reason was that she had such lovely things to remember, if only she could remember them. You can't talk and think. For a year and a quarter she would just lie on her back and remember . . . and then when she had it all quite clear in her mind, she would tell them all about it. But nobody can speak without practice. So every night, as soon as she was alone, she practised.
She practised now.
"Teddy!" she called.
Down on the floor, at the foot of her bed, Teddy-bear, whose head was nodding on his chest, woke up with a start.
"What is it?" he grumbled.
"Are you asleep, Teddy?"
"I are and I aren't," said Teddy.
"I forght I were, and I weren't," said Miss Waterlow.
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