Oliver had responded, trying to draw his wife back from one of her moods. “Dreams, either asleep or awake, can be silly and happy, or sad and sometimes frightening, but they are part of what makes us human. I daresay it can make an unbearable life at times tolerable. Is that so wrong?” She had finished her port before answering. “It is not simply a question of wrong or right, Iggy.” This was her nickname for him, which he loved, because of the intimacy it implied. “It is a question of honesty. To dream is often to deceive oneself. We may dream so often about another sort of life that we forget
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