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A figure in a long night robe appeared at the doorway.

My nurse takes my left arm, bunching the wide sleeves of my night robe, and ties a red string around my bicep.

It’s a wildly fun conceit that the thing can only walk and that it might appear as anything from an elderly stranger in a night robe to a boyfriend.

“No, not too much noise,” coaxed the big woman, who in her night robe looked like a masquerade figure.

A fair-haired child, kneeling in a snow-white night robe, lisping its  evening prayer, was suggested to hundreds by the worshipful music.