thirty
Mr Samuels dreamt of a kid gambolling in a spring meadow.
He dreamt of almond blossom gently flying on a warm breeze.
He dreamt of a butterfly flitting from bloom to bloom.
The dreams were cut short as Mr Samuels shot up in bed with something like terror. He struggled for breath and his limbs seemed to shake uncontrollably for a second or two. He felt his eyes bulge and his chest tighten.
Mr Samuels could not imagine how kids and blossom and butterflies could inspire such a sudden, violent fear. What else he might ascribe that fear to, again he could not imagine. He had been dreaming, then the fear had ripped him awake. He could think of no intervening stimulus, but, as he tried to ease himself, he considered that one doesn’t remember all one’s dreams. Actually, it was rare for
