Unwin, mindful of the commandment to choose his words carefully, chose none for now.
In his dream of Lamech’s dream of Hoffmann’s dream of Sivart’s dream, a dreaming Unwin opened his bathroom door, a fresh towel over his arm, his robe cinched tight around his waist. Sivart scrubbed his feet with a long-handled brush, and the other Unwin said, “Sir, what are you doing in my bathtub?”
Note: that was crystal clear ....