He hung silent for a space as if he sought words. 'Yes,' he said at last, 'but they tell you nothing.'
I did not catch his meaning for a second.
'They don't know,' he added.
I looked a little more attentively at his face.
'There are dreams,' he said, 'and dreams.'
That sort of proposition I never dispute.
'I suppose' he hesitated. ' Do you ever dream? I mean vividly.'
'I dream very little,' I answered. 'I doubt if I have three vivid dreams in a year.'
'Ah!' he said, and seemed for a moment to collect his thoughts.
'Your dreams don't mix with your memories?' he asked abruptly. 'You don't find yourself in doubt; did this happen or did it not?'
'Hardly ever. Except just for a momentary hesitation now and then. I suppose few people do.'
'Does he say' he indicated the book.
'Says it happens at times and gives the usual explanation about intensity of impression and the like to account for its not happening as a rule. I suppose you know something of these theories'
'Very little—except that they are wrong.
