His wife was not in the bed next to him. The covers were tumbled and
awry, as though she had just left it, and the memory of the dream was
so strong that instinctively he found himself searching the floor to
see if the dream explosion had thrown her down.
[Illustration]
But she wasn't there. Of course she wasn't, he told himself, looking
at the familiar vanity and slipper chair, the uncracked window, the
unbuckled wall. It had only been a dream.
"Guy?" His wife was calling him querulously from the foot of the
stairs. "Guy, dear, are you all right?"