acing.

"You made no end of a row in your sleep, Sharlie."

* * * * *

She had dreamed about him again, the next night. He was walking with her
on the road from the town to the Farm. By the lime kiln at the turn he
disappeared. He had never been there, really.

She had gone out to look for him. The road kept on curling round like a
snake, bringing her back and back to the white gate of the Farm.

When she got through the gate she stepped off the field on to the low
bridge over a black canal. The long, sharp-pointed road cut straight as a
dyke through the flat fields, between two lines of slender trees, tall
poles with tufted tops.

She knew she was awake now because the light whitened and the wind moved
in the tree tufts and the road felt hard under her feet. When she came to
the village, to the long grey walls with narrow shutters, she knew John
was there. He came down the street towards the canal bridge. A group of
women and children walked with him, dressed in black. Dutch women. Dutch
babies. She could see their overalls and high caps and large, upturned
shoes very black and distinct in the white light. This was real.

They pointed their fingers and stared at her with secretive, inimical
faces. Terror crept in over the street, subtle, drifting and penetrating
like an odour.

John's face was happy and excited; that was how she knew him. His face
was real, its happiness and excitement were real. But as he passed her it
changed; it turned on her with a look she didn't know. Eyes of hatred,
eyes that repudiated and betrayed her.

* * * * *

The third night; the third dream.

She had lost John and was looking for him; walking a long time through a
country she could no longer see or remember. She came out of blank space
to the river bridge and the red town. She could see the road
switchbacking over the bridge and turning sharp and slanting up the river
bank to the ramparts.

Red fortresses above the ramparts, a high red town above the fortresses,
a thin red tower above the town. The whole thing looked dangerous and
unsteady, as if any minute it would topple over. She knew John was there.
Something awful was happening to him, and he wanted her.

When she stepped on the bridge the river swelled and humped itself up to
the arch. It flooded. The bridge walls made a channel for the gush. It
curled over the bank and came curving down the slant road fro