It was in that first spring that I first dreamt of her death. In the dream we were improbably skylarking about on the top of a ten-storey building, Davy laughing on the parapet... falling... I racing down all those flights of stairs in such anguish I wonder I didn’t perish in my sleep .. . she in the deserted street, every bone broken . . . giving me one tiny kiss and dying. That dream was the single most awful agony of my whole life; and she was haunted by such dreams. It was not to be borne.
