To hear other people's dreams is usually killingly dull. And my own are the same to others, I know. As a child I had extraordinarily vivid dreams, in terrifying technicolour. Other people's dream stories seemed horribly pedestrian in comparison to mine, so full as they were of whirling planets and tennis courts being strafed. I hardly ever dreamed about people and I still don't. Last night I had a dream that is lingering in my brain. I wish I could recapture it fully but its vividness is seeping away. I've never had a dream like it. I suppose my brain is just clearing out the files and putting them in order for future reference but it seems that it was more than that. I can only describe it as a wall of words, with some Latin, a little reference to France and a question on a pendant.
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Peeling the Onion
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