Jack Vettriano Painting

Jack Vettriano Painting
Why, even now, in her dream, she could hear her husband speaking to her about it:
"Ellen " - so she heard Bunting murmur in her ear - "Ellen, my dear, I'm just going to get up to get a paper. It's after seven o'clock."
The shouting - nay, worse, the sound of tramping, hurrying feet smote on her shrinking ears. Pushing back her hair off her forehead with both hands, she sat up and listened.
Jack Vettriano Painting
It had been no nightmare, then, but something infinitely worse - reality.
Why couldn't Bunting have lain quiet abed for awhile longer, and let his poor wife go on dreaming? The most awful dream would have been easier to bear than this awakening.
Jack Vettriano Painting