[She makes a pleased sound at that, reaching out for the books.]

Mmm. I chose my pillow well. And - oh.

[A small, yellowed piece of paper falls out of one of the books, which she unfolds, and laughs.]

Oh, gosh, it's a Keats poem - I copied it by hand, can you believe it?

[She sighs, then starts to read.]

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores;
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors -
No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever - or else swoon to death.

[She pauses, a satisfied noise in her throat.]

Appropriate to tonight that he starts by talking about another planet.