Thomas Barden slept fitfully. The dream was not nightmare, but it was annoying. It was like the important thought that does not quite struggle up through into consciousness but which remains unformed though the mind is aware of the hidden importance. It was like trying to read small print through a silk screen or to see fine detail through a sheet of florentine glass. Strangely, Tom Barden seemed to know that there was something strange about the dream, that it was more than just the ramblings of the subconscious mind. He knew that there was something to be gained by permitting the dream to run while he watched, so to speak. But the trouble was that the dream could not run so long as he rem…
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