The king enters a shelter to kneel at the bedside of a young woodwoman with gentle green eyes and a musical voice, my wife.
After just a few seconds of conversation, he held up a hand to quiet her and knelt by my bedside.
I held it up to the light by my bedside table and saw the definite markings of a failing grade.
Thinking of Grandma Willow and how she made us all kneel at our bedside and say prayers before we went to bed, I thank God or whoever is out there for my Aunt Mimi, my angel in a thunderstorm.
He has to duck to enter, and then the restricted height forces him to kneel down at the bedside of a sick woodwoman.
The books on each of the bedside tables appear unchanged.
No aspirin in the bedside table or in the bathroom or kitchen cabinets.
He got on his knees, accidentally clipping his elbow on the bedside draws and knocking a bottle of perfume off.
Turning off my bedside lamp, I curl up and drift off to sleep.
The moonlight now obscured by clouds and the only source of light in the room, the candle on the bedside table, was melting fast.
