"Yes--funny stuff," Mrs. Severance's voice is musically quiet. "And then
you tell them to people who pretend to know all about what they mean--and
then--" She shrugs shoulders at the Freudian two across the shoulder-high
partition.
"But you don't believe in all this psycho-analysis tosh, do you?"
She hesitates. "A little, yes. Like the old woman and ghosts. I may not
believe in it but I'm afraid of it, rather."
She gives him a steady look--her eyes go deep. It is not so much the
intensity of the look as its haltingness that makes warmth go over him.
"Shall we tell our dreams--the favorite ones, I mean? Play fair if we do,
remember," she adds slowly.
"Not if you're really afraid."
"I? But it's just because I am afraid that I really should, you know. Like
going into a dark room when you don't want to."
"But they can't be as scary as _that_, surely." Ted's voice is a little
false. Both are watching each other intently now--he with a puzzled sense
of lazy enveloping firelight.
"Well, shall I begin? After all this _is_ tea in the Village."
"I should be very much interested indeed, Mrs.
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