She gets out of bed, gets dressed, unlocks her closet, gets paper, writes on it, reads it, seals it, and goes to bed; all while asleep.
And what does she say?
That I will not report. But look, here she comes.
How did she get a light?
She requests that a light be by her bed every night.
You see her eyes are open.
Ay, but their sense is shut.
Out, damned spot! Out, I say! What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him. The thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean? Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh! Look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on ’s grave. To bed, to bed. There’s knocking at the gate. What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed!
We have heard what we should not have.
She has said what she should not have. Heaven knows what she has known.
This is beyond my practice, but watch her and remove her from anything she might use to harm herself. I have an opinion but I must not say it. Does she go to bed now?