talkingpiffle:

One vaguely hoped Bunter had not spent the whole night chasing blackbeetles, but for the moment what was left of one’s mind was concentrated on Peter—being anxious not to wake him, rather hoping he would soon wake up of his own accord and wondering what he would say when he did. If his first words were French one would at least feel certain that he retained an agreeable impression of the night’s proceedings; on the whole, however, English would be preferable, as showing that he remembered quite distinctly who one was.

As though this disturbing thought had broken his sleep, he stirred at that moment, and, without opening his eyes felt for her with his hand and pulled her down against him. And his first word was neither French nor English, but a long interrogative, “M’mmm?”

“M’m!” said Harriet, abandoning herself. “Mais quel tact, mon dieu! Sais-tu enfin qui je suis?”

“Yes, my Shulamite, I do, so you needn’t lay traps for my tongue. In the course of a misspent life I have learned that it is a gentleman’s first duty to remember in the morning who it was he took to bed with him. You are Harriet, and you are black but comely. Incidentally, you are my wife, and if you have forgotten it you will have to learn it all over again.”

–Busman’s Honeymoon by Dorothy L. Sayers