“Well, really, George, that isn’t very common with you, I must say. You must have—no, you only had what I had yesterday —unless you had tea at that wretched club house: did you?”
“No, no; nothing but a cup of tea and some bread and butter. I should really like to know how I came to put my dream together—as I suppose one does put one's dreams together from a lot of little things one has been seeing or reading. Look here, Mary, it was like this—if I shan't be boring you——”
“I wish to hear what it was, George. I will tell you when I have had enough.”
“All right. I must tell you that it wasn’t like other nightmares in one way, because I didn't really see any one who spoke to me or touched me, and yet I was most fearfully impressed with the reality of it all. First I was sitting, no, moving about, in an old-fashioned sort of panelled room. I remember there was a fireplace and a lot of burnt papers in it, and I was in a great state of anxiety about something. There was some one else—a servant,
