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That, Verena managed after some suspenseful seconds, is, she said, regarding her gloved hands, remarkable. Very. I wouldn't have credited either of you with so much imagination. Or is it that I am imagining? Quite likely I'm dreaming of myself in a wet tree on a thundery night. Except I never have dreams, or perhaps I only forget them. This one I suggest we all forget.I'll own up: I think it is a dream. Miss Verena. But a man who doesn't dream is like a man who doesn't sweat: he stores up a lot of poison.
-Truman Capote, The Glass Harp