Deep in the Heart

Anabelle managed to get a dazed Ichabod onto his bed before running down to the kitchen to fetch a strong glass of wine. He was relatively incoherent...she didn't even know if he knew who she was. He kept muttering her name over and over.
"I'm here," she told him, sitting him up against the headboard, holding the glass of wine to his lips. "I'm here. Drink this."
He managed to swallow, but his still did not look fully conscious. Then she thought about what he had told her...about fainting in Sleepy Hollow. Something must have terrified him completely. Anxiously she searched his face, hoping for some indication, as she held on tightly to both of his hands.
"It's all right, Ichabod. I'm here."

"Anabelle?" Ichabod asked for what seemed the thousandth time. This time, however, his voice was stronger and he seemed to be able to focus on the features of the woman before him. "Anabelle?!" He blinked at her, uncomprehendingly. "But...but the Horseman... I saw you, and your head was..." He shuddered out of control and tried to pull away from her to go to the window, but she was holding him back. "No... Someone is down there... Somebody...hurt." His sentences were choppy as if he was too rushed, too scared, to bother forming proper English.

"Ichabod, please. Slow down and tell me what has gotten into you," Anabelle fought against him as he tried to get up. "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with me," she insisted trying to assuage his trembling, hoping for coherent answers. She searched his eyes, failing to ignore how deep of brown they were or how they drew her in until she felt herself drowning into them. She shook her head. Now was not the time to dwell on such emotions. In fact, she shouldn't be having these thoughts or feelings at all. She felt her hands relax their grip on him as she mentally chided herself for her wandering mind.

Feeling her grip slacken, Ichabod wrenched himself away and scurried to the window, looking down. Night had fallen for the most part on New York, and he could just barely make out the forms of around six officers standing around something on the ground that Ichabod could not see. Even so, he knew what it was: The body of some young lady, murdered, and innocent.
He turned back to Anabelle, his mouth working furiously, but making no sounds.
"There," he whispered. "Down there... The Horseman." Ichabod's legs shook violently and he was forced to lean on the desk next to him to keep from simply toppling over. "Right in front of the house, Anabelle... They will think...think..." He trailed off, wincing.

Her heart pounded in her chest so hard she thought it would break her ribcage. She struggled to stay in control, to remain calm, but failed miserably. She sat on the bed, staring at the imprint left by Ichabod's body, her lips parted, but no breath was coming out.
Mechanically she rose to her feet and joined him at the window, glancing down into the shadowy streets. There, in the street, just in front of the house, a small crowd gathered...the Horseman's latest victim.
Anabelle felt her composure slipping as she crumbled to the ground. Her arms rested on her knees as she buried her head in her arms, her fingers raking through her dark tresses as she started shaking.
Ichabod's words rang ominously in her head, repeating and repeating:
"Right in front of the house, Anabelle... They will think...think..."
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They would think it was her.
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Suddenly she stood, she had to get out of there. She was putting Ichabod in too much danger. Turning her head to him, she tried to meet his eyes one last time, but he was glued to the window. She bit down on her lip. He would never know. Feeling panic well up inside her, she darted out of the room.

Ichabod heard the footfalls as Anabelle fled, but it took him a moment to respond at all. When realization did hit and he looked around, it was too late. She was gone.
"Anabelle!" he shouted, staring at the doorway she had, moments before, fled through. "No, Anabelle! It's too dangerous!" Forgetting his previous fears and terror, he bolted after. He tore down the stairs, fearing where she would go, or what she would do.

Anabelle knew going through the front door was not an option. She just allowed her feet to lead her blindly in whatever direction they deemed right. She could hear Ichobad's footsteps thundering down the stairs as she reached the kitchen. He shouldn't bother with her; all she brought him was trouble.
Just as she reached the door, she realized it was locked. Scrambling frantically she searched for the key, finally finding it on the table amidst the preparations for dinner. Shaking, she placed it in the lock and was about to open the door and leave Ichabod in peace when a hand reached out and held the door closed. She could feel warm breathing against her temple.
Wide eyed, she froze, unable to move at all.

Ichabod's hands gently pulled Anabelle away from the door by her arms.
"Please, don't go, Anabelle. You will not last a day out there." He pulled her close to him, the only thoughts in his head at the moment to keep her safely inside. Nothing else was important, and not even thoughts of his deceased fiancé penetrated the fore of his mind now. Holding her arms gently against him, his breath drifting past her ears and hair.
"Either by Horseman, or law, you will not survive if you leave now. I will not let you be executed, or found in some alley with your head severed from your body. I will not!"

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She was shaking violently and she knew he could feel it from the way he held her arms. His breath drifted past her ear, stirring her dark hair, making her shiver again. Heavens, she should not be thinking of the surges his touch sent through her! It was all just so overwhelming.
"I cannot stay here with you," Anabelle heard herself say with surprisingly more calm than she expected. She sounded defeated. "There is no need for you to risk your life to save me. It would seem I am marked."
Anabelle turned to face Ichabod, not able to meet his eyes. "I cannot ask you to put yourself in any more danger, Ichabod. This," she indicated to her head and neck, "This is just not worth it."
She closed her eyes again as two tears fell from black lashes slowly coursing down her pale cheeks.

Silent for a moment, Ichabod thought over the situation. Then he did something that surprised even himself. He wrapped his arms about Anabelle's shoulders and pulled her to him, his lips resting momentarily on the top of her head.
"Every human being is worth it, Anabelle. As for you... you are worth so much more as well. And I am marked also." He pulled away, but kept a tight grip on her arm. "Now, come. The magistrate will be here soon, and you haven't any dinner ready. If you wipe your tears, and calm yourself, he will suspect nothing. We can maybe just convince him that we have seen nothing yet." He paused, searching the chocolate eyes. "Well, what say you?"

Anabelle searched his eyes, wondering how he could be so calm. It was then she realized he was doing it for her. A blush rose to her cheeks as she gave him a small nod, lifting her hand to dry her eyes.
"All right," she answered, her eyes falling on half-finished dinner preparations. "Thank you, Ichabod," she added, lightly grasping his free hand with hers, gently applying pressure.
Turning her attention back to dinner, she remembered something.
"If you see a small boy with a green bag, do send him to me," Anabelle told Ichabod. "I asked him to bring me some things from home...just in case."

"Of coarse I will," Ichabod said with a little nod. "I'll wait for him by the side of the house and tell him to come to the kitchen door. It may not be wise to have him enter to the front what with... Well, he may be frightened away, or not permitted through." Giving her one last confident smile, he strode from the room.
Outside, he leaned against a wall; eyes shut, and took a long, deep breath. What a strange week this was turning out to be...

Anabelle smoothed the skirts of her dress once more as she turned in the mirror. She was dreading dinner with the magistrate. Willing her fidgety hands to be still she took one more glance at herself, making sure her appearance was decent.
As soon as Ichabod had brought the boy inside, she paid him for his troubles, finished up what she was doing and rushed upstairs. The magistrate already didn't seem to have a favorable opinion towards her, and, though sometimes it sounded irrational even to her, she did not want him to see her in the same clothes as the day before.
This particular dress was dark, the deepest shade of green possible. It contrasted wonderfully with her pale skin and dark eyes. She quickly swept her hair out of her face and headed towards when she stopped and paused. Turning she walked over to the bag the boy had brought and fished out two objects. With tandem "pings" they dropped into her pocket. With a sigh, she made her way downstairs to make sure nothing had burned in her absence...and to avoid the magistrate as long as possible.

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When the constable arrived, Ichabod was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling aimlessly with a few of his contraptions, and pretending, even to himself, that he was not watching Anabelle out of the corner of his eye. There was a knock on the door, making Ichabod jump. He had had his gaze transfixed on Anabelle's...backside features as she bent over to check the food in the oven. She looked gorgeous in the dress and he just could not help himself. Blushing, he looked away and stood to answer the door.
"Sir!" he exclaimed, opening the door, over-boisterously. The magistrate blinked, then shook his head.
"This better be important, Crane. And maybe you can explain why a young girl has been decapitated right in front of you house?"
"Young...girl?" Ichabod repeated. Though his expression was questioning, sweat was starting to pour down the back of his neck and he twisted his hands nervously behind his back. "What—"
"You didn't notice the murder take place right in front of your house about one hour ago?" the magistrate asked skeptically.
"I was fixing a few of my inventions," Ichabod said. "And Anabelle was cooking, so it was louder than usual in the h-"
"Anabelle? That girl is still here?"
"Yes," Ichabod replied a little defiantly. "She's been helping me. She is what I wanted to talk to you about tonight."

Anabelle heard the magistrate's references to her. Her lips curled in disgust and she paused in her preparations, wondering idly if Ichobad would mind terribly if she poisoned his boss's dinner. The thought amused her, and even though she knew she wouldn't act on such a thought, it made her smile.
If he provokes me too much, I can always get him with dessert...she mused.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Ichabod's gaze. She smiled a faint smile and took a deep breath, concentrating on the rise and fall of her chest and the tightening of her corset. This eve would be a trial of patience for her...and patience was not a virtue she possessed. Ichobad held her gaze, glancing away for a moment before meeting her eyes again.
I trust you...she thought, hoping things would turn out well.

Nodding slightly, Ichabod led the magistrate to his seat at the table then turned to Anabelle.
"When do you think dinner will be read-" he stumbled slightly on an upturned corner of the rug and had to catch himself on the table as his eyes glued to Anabelle's slightly disheveled look. A few strands of hair hung into her face as she cooked and her hands had a few smudges on them. The magistrate cleared his throat loudly, sounding impatient. Ichabod blinked around at him then straightened up. "Ahem... When will supper be set, Anabelle?"

"Right now," Anabelle didn't look up from her preparations as she balanced three plates piled high with food. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I made a bit of everything," she paused realizing she'd already said that phrase once today. "You never did get around to telling me what sorts of food you prefer, Ichabod," she chided lightly. She smiled as she walked past him, setting down the plate in front of the magistrate.
Criticize my cooking and it's the last thing you will say, she thought, masking her dislike with a sweet smile. Surely Ichabod, with all his contraptions and inventing, surely he had toxic chemicals around here somewhere. If not, she knew where to find others. Just in case.
But, for Ichabod's sake, she would behave herself as long as she could.

Ichabod smiled as Anabelle took the seat in front of him, but before taking a bite, he gazed at the magistrate. His boss had already taken two bites and was chewing rather loudly and grossly, making Ichabod gag. Carefully, he opened his mouth to speak, clearing his throat first.
"Sir... Anabelle here is my dear Katrina's cousin. I have good reason to believe...that she is in grave danger of the Horseman." The magistrate gazed at his Constable, but continued chewing. His face was rather expressionless.
"Now, sir, I have a proposition to keep Anabelle safe. This may seem rather unorthodox and uncalled for, but the Horseman is difficult to evade, and this is the only way I can fool him." Still, the magistrate sat and chewed silently, waiting. "We need... well. We need to make people thank that Anabelle is Katrina. That she is my wife and that Katrina was the cousin..." Ichabod took a deep breath as his boss stopped chewing. "We...we, of course, at home would just be friends, and she would be Anabelle, but in public...the only people that know who she really is are herself, you, and I..." He bit his lip, unsure of how the magistrate would react.

Anabelle watched Ichabod as he explained, holding her breath as her heart raced once he again mentioned she'd have to play his wife. She quickly began taking deep, silent breaths, along with a sip of wine to keep from fainting again.
Ichabod's eyes were glued to the magistrate as they awaited his comments. Anabelle watched in disgust as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth, chewing loudly. All of a sudden, she wished she had burnt the food, undercooked the vegetables, and watered the wine...anything was better than hearing him chew like a cow.

Finally, the old man swallowed, bits of food clinging to his with beard.
"Alright, Crane... If you can pull this off, fine. For the sake of this young...," he glanced at Anabelle, "woman. However, I'm warning you. You make one false move, anything against the law, or policy, or manners, and there will be no promotion for you and you," he glared at Anabelle," you will be tried for murder."

Over your lard-encrusted dead body, Anabelle thought to herself as she merely smiled at the magistrate, before turning her eyes back to her meal. She picked listlessly at it, unable to eat much with the magistrate's disgusting chewing noises. She pushed her food around, occasionally taking a bite of something, but as for a meal, she would not eat this one, regardless of how long it took her to make.
There was still some items she had made that hadn't appeared on the table. She would eat those instead, once the magistrate was gone and things were back to normal.
Normal. Now there was an interesting thought. Nothing about her life had been normal since she saw Katrina the day before. And now she was sitting at a dinner table, about to start pretending to be her cousin, Ichabod's wife, and if she misbehaved the police would execute her for murder...if some mad Horseman didn't get her first. There was nothing normal about it at all.
She refilled the magistrate's wine glass as he drained the first one. On the pretense of getting another brand of wine, she made her way to the kitchen were she drew a deep sigh of relief. As loud as his chewing was, the sickening noise didn't reach the kitchen. But, she couldn't leave Ichabod out there alone for long. Grabbing the coffee, she took a deep breath and went back into the dinning room.
"Coffee, sir?" she asked, with a fake smile plastered on her lips. Judging by the look on Ichobad's face, he knew it was fake as well.

"No, no!" the magistrate blubbered, waving a hand at her. "No coffee. I do not drink that. Do you have any brandy?" Ichabod froze, looking at Anabelle, his eyes wide. Brandy? Yes, he had brandy, and sherry, always for guests, but was it wise to give the magistrate some? After a moment's thought, he nodded, standing up.
"One moment, sir. I will fetch you some." The magistrate nodded, fixing Anabelle and Ichabod with an unpleasant, unimpressed gaze.

"Then I'll just take this back," Anabelle said, watching Ichabod disappear into the kitchen. She hurried after him, setting the coffee pot down on the stove.
"You're not really going to give him brandy, are you?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise at the idea. "He's probably got quite a store-room's worth in him already."

Ichabod shook his head.
"No, he's sober, surprisingly," he whispered, leading her further from the door to insure the other man was out of earshot. "And yes, I'm afraid I must give him brandy. Otherwise, he will not be pleased. Nothing will happen, I promise you. Don't worry." He grabbed two bottles of brandy from the shelves and handed them to her before grabbing a bottle of sherry as will and a set of glass tumblers.

Anabelle glanced at him hesitantly before exiting into the room where the magistrate was noisily licking his fingers. She forced a smile on her lips, setting down the brandy in the center of the table. Then she began gathering the dinner dishes, noticing how little Ichobad ate as well.
They would have a proper meal once the magistrate left, she decided as she headed back into the kitchen.
She wasn't much for the common conceptions of women, particularly the idea that they belonged in kitchens and nurseries and should be seen and not heard. However, under present circumstances, she thought being silent was her best course of action. She would give this disturbingly grotesque gentleman no ammunition and she would not interfere with Ichabod's plan. Setting the dishes in the sink, she rubbed her temples and poked her head out. She caught Ichabod's attention and motioned for him to join her back in the kitchen.
"Should I stay here?" she whispered, although she was sure the magistrate was thoroughly enjoying his brandy or sherry...probably both together. "Or would you prefer me to join you?"

"Yes, stay, please. Don't leave me alone with him." Ichabod winced, realizing how childish that sounded. "I'm sorry. If you don't want to stay, you may do whatever you wish, but..." He glanced back at the doorway and winced as he heard the shattering of glass as the magistrate dropped a tumbler. Sighing, Ichabod ran his fingers through his black hair. "I'm not going to make you stay, but do decide quickly. I hope he doesn't stay for long. This is appalling." Just then, there came the gurgling voice of Ichabod's superior from the sitting room where they had moved to with the spirits.
"Do join me fer a glhiccupass, Crane! hiccup Very fine sherry you have here!"

Anabelle glanced out towards the dinning room before glancing back at Ichabod. "I will stay with you," she answered in a hushed tone. "I just was unsure of typical protocol with regards to women, men, and alcohol. I haven't any family anymore and, well, I just didn't know," she confessed. "But I won't leave you alone with him."

"Thank you," Ichabod breathed, before returning to his chair in the sitting room. "I won't join you in drinking, sir. I don't much like the stuff mys-"
"Nonsense!" the man cried in a jovial manner not usual to him. "Here, have some of the strong stuff! You will love it!"
"I really-"
"Drink!" It was more of a command now than an offer. Ichabod glanced at Anabelle briefly before taking the tumbler the magistrate handed him. He hesitated, looking like he might be ill, then swung his head back and drank it in one gulp. His head swirled violently and he cringed as the strong liquid burned his throat, but he swallowed successfully. He looked up, through watering eyes at the magistrate, who was grinning broadly.
"Good man! Here's another!" He filled the glass again, then added, "And you may want to drink this one a little slower."

Anabelle stared at Ichabod as he tossed back the first glass. She remembered him telling her he didn't drink anything but wine since he was fifteen.
Now that she was out of the menacing eye of the magistrate, she relaxed in a nearby chair, picking up a nearby book and pretending to read as she secretly kept an eye on Ichobad.
Once or twice he caught her gaze. She arched a questioning glance as he was poured another glass of the "good stuff" as the magistrate called it.
Oh Ichobad, I hope you know what you're doing.

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Forty-five minutes passed and Ichabod was sitting, leaning forward and thumping his boss heartily on the back as they both laughed at what was apparently a hilarious joke. In reality, it hadn't been, but the two drunken men of law found it quite exceedingly amusing. Finally, Ichabod leaned back in his chair, finishing off his ninth tumbler full of spirit, and the magistrate stood up, looking very relaxed.
"Sadly, m'boy, I must be off! Lots of work t'be done, 'n' with all this...this...Horsemen, parading abot the villig." He was very drunk, but so was Ichabod, for from his seat, the Constable nodded and waved off the superior at the door, leaning heavily on the doorframe and relying on it for his support. Then he turned to Anabelle who was still sitting a reading, and squinted at her.

Anabelle sighed in relief as the magistrate left. She closed her book and looked over at Ichabod. She shook her head. He was clinging to the doorframe, drunk. Well, at least this time, she could keep him away from carriages and from breaking his arm again.

Ichabod was stepping slowly towards Anabelle and the chaise on which she sat, looking thoughtful. At long last, he reached the chaise and sat down on the far end, smiling stupidly.
"How was your e'ening so far, then?" he muttered, listing towards her slightly.

"Well, the magistrate said he'd play along, I could barely eat a thing for his revolting display of table manners, you were a nervous wreck, and now, Ichabod, dear, I think you're drunk," Anabelle reached out to tenderly brush back a stray lock of black hair from his forehead. "But I won't allow you near any carriages, don't worry," she smiled.

Ichabod hadn't seemed to have heard a single word she had said, or it was as if she was speaking a completely foreign language. Taking her hand as it passed by his face, he intertwined his fingers with her and peered at her hand, tickling the fingers of his other hand down her wrist and forearm. As though by accident, he planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand, then another, and another.
"'M not drunk," he mumbled between kisses as he worked his way across the back of her hand and up her wrist slowly.

Anabelle let out a soft gasp as Ichabod's lips pressed against her skin, but she couldn't pull away. Actually she wasn't sure if she could or if she simply didn't want to do so. She could only stare at him for a moment before she found her voice.
"You must be drunk," her voice faltered as he pressed his lips again to her wrist. "I'm Anabelle, remember?"

"Mh-hm, Anabelle. I know," he whispered, lifting his face to look at her. "And I am not drunk... I haven't been drunk since I was fifteen." He scooted closer to her on the chaise, taking her hands in his and pulling her closer to him. Without another word, he leaned into her and pressed his lips gently to hers, begging her to accept him. His hands found their way about her waist, holding her against him as he pressed kisses to her lips again and again.

Anabelle let out a shuddering breath, unintentionally parting her lips as she did so. Her hands tangled in Ichabod's black locks, even though her mind was screaming at her to pull away, to run upstairs, to not let him kiss her this way. However, the touch of his lips as they pressed softly into hers rendered all rational thought impossible. When being kissed with such tenderness, who wanted to think rationally?

Immediately, Ichabod took advantage of her parted lips, sinking into a fervent exploration of her mouth. His arms wrapped further around her waist and he lifted her up, off the chaise, standing up himself. He left one knee on the chaise to keep himself up straight and pulled away from his lips just enough to whisper, "Upstairs." He smashed his lips to hers again, wanting to turn every millimeter of her mouth.

Anabelle heard herself murmur an ascent before his lips reclaimed hers. She was shuddering again in his arms, and the voice in her head that told her to pull away was being drowned out by the thundering of her heart in her chest...or was that his? Blindly following his lead, she tripped up the stairs, completely wrapped up in the passionate kisses he pressed to her lips.

Finally, Ichabod had pulled Anabelle with him to the master bedroom. Gently, he lowered her onto the bed, one hand sliding over the corset he wore and quickly untying the stays.
"Anabelle," he murmured, running his lips down her jawline and to her earlobe. He kissed her earlobe for a moment, then her neck, down to her shoulder, which he had pulled the dress sleeve from.

Anabelle's eyes flew open as Ichabod began to draw in her skin, leaving behind a perfectly formed purple mark. His hands drifted over her frame, resting finally on her ribcage.
The little nagging voice inside her head was back, and much louder this time. They had to stop. Ichabod had too much brandy and Anabelle was certainly drunk off of his kiss. This wasn't how she wanted things to be and she was fairly certain he wouldn't want it this way either.
Finally finding her voice, she murmured his name only to have his lips return to hers, once again silencing her reluctance as she sank further into the mattress.

Ichabod had already removed the green corset from her body and had started on her chemise by the time the hesitation in her kiss was realized by him. He could feel her body beneath him go from utterly relaxed to tense, as though it could not decide. He pushed himself up slightly and looked down at her, frowning and his lips slightly red.
"You alright, Anabelle?" he asked, and despite his drunken state, his voice was tender.

She smiled a small, wistful smile up at him, staring deep into his eyes. Reaching up, she touched his swollen lips with her fingers, running her thumb gently over the lower as he parted them. Tilting her chin up, she touched her lips to his before laying back to meet his eyes again. Anabelle placed her hands on his face, her thumb running across his cheekbone.
"Ichabod," she began, surprised that her voice was faltering. "Could...could you just hold me close for a while?"

Ichabod furrowed his eyebrows momentarily, but nodded. He rolled off of her slowly, bouncing a bit on the bed as he landed on his side and pulled her over to him again. One arm wrapped securely about her waist, while the other wound under her arms, hugging her tightly.
"Wha's wrong?" he asked, his speech slurred. "Why didn't you want to...?"

Anabelle nudged herself closer into his arms, one hand pillowing her head as she ran her fingers through his hair. Again she brushed her lips against his.
"Please don't be angry with me, Ichabod," she whispered, tilting her head so that it rested beneath his chin. She could feel the heat from his body warming her.
Then she had an idea.
Lifting her head back to meet his eyes, she moved one finger slowly up and down the bridge of his nose, not stopping the motion as she watched his eyelids start to droop. His breathing leveled off slightly, becoming more rhythmic. Still Anabelle did not stop trailing her finger up and down his nose.

Ichabod's arm relaxed around her, though they remained wrapped there. His eyes closed completely and his head lolled forward slightly off the pillow. He had fallen into a sweet, dreamless sleep, helping of course by the liquor and constant massage on his nose. His forehead had rested on hers, so that she could feel every breath from him.

Anabelle had no idea how much time had passed when her eyelids fluttered open. She didn't even remember falling asleep, but smiled when she realized that Ichabod's arms were still holding her close. She lay in his arms listening to his heartbeat. Suddenly another sound caught her ears.
Hooves on cobblestone...
...At this late hour...
Anabelle jumped out of bed, grabbing a stick of chalk form her bag. She ran to the door of the master bedroom and began to draw upon the doorframe. She had to be quick, yet one mistake could cost them both dearly. She checked her work--nothing amiss.
Hastily returning to the bedroom, her eyes fell upon Ichabod still sleeping. Her hand reached into her pocket. This was not how she had hoped to do this, but his safety was too valuable to wait.
Her fingers closed around the larger of the two bands. She pulled it out and quickly slipped it on his left ring finger. Immediately she jammed the smaller band onto her finger as a warm surge flooded through her veins.
She lay back down beside him, watching him sleep. Leaning forward, she placed a kiss on his forehead as she felt him move his arm back to its original resting place about her waist, pulling her body flat against his once more. His other hand wound back under her arm. The sound of his breath and the warmth of being in his arms helped her to relax. Anabelle rested her hand on his bicep. Finally she was lulled to sleep.