Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 47 — page 119: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“You would have expected —unpleasant dreams?” “Well, yes. I’m always having trouble.”’ Mary’s sigh was not devoid of satisfaction. “Young men are so demand- ing. They all want me to love them till death us do part. But I want to ring the changes. Make sure I know what I want. So they’re always quar- - relling. And one,” Mary thrilled, “threatened to kill me if J didn’t marry him on the spot!” Mr. Trinter glanced -at the girl. She was well-built, healthy. She radiated vitality. And she had common sense and humour. He sighed, envy- ing her belligerent suitors. He pulled himself together. ““No details, but—your dreams are romantic? Prince Charm- ing, and all that?” | Mary’s cheeks burned. _ ~ “T bet,” his eyes narrowed, __. “you don’t know what his _ face looks like!’ “My goodness, no!” gasped, round-eyed. did you guess?” eis “*Shot in the dark.” chap, Freud, now. He'd got something. Mary was a ro- % if < | WT rl en ke RL ae = See | casey teeth! ts 5) sii ~~ —." cai be et pt Te Le OE ARCO Cee eT Sane fe ’ ‘ she “How 118 AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION mantic. According to Freudian interpretation, her dream was wish-fulfilment, and when Mr. Right came along, the dream- lover would acquire recog- nisable features. He frowned. His own dream was much more complex. With the real meaning—liatent content, as Freud would have it—completely obscured by the symbolic manifest content; and the censor, probably, gumming up the trail. Yet somewhere, fathoms deep... “It’s a tough nut!’ “Your dream, Mr. Trinter ?” He started. He had spoken aloud; and Mary, a full tray on her hip, was watching. She came over to his chair. “If you like,’’ she offered, “Tll lend you my Book of Dreams.”’ “Dreams . . !” An acid voice maltreated the word, and in swept a tall, hook-nosed woman, grey eyes flashing behind pince-nez. “You're not paid to dream, Mary. Hurry up. There’s a stack of dishes in the sink.” “Yes, Mrs. Skipson.”’ Demurely, Mary went out, and the landlady, rigid and righteous, addressed the comicloooks.conrn