Neville retells a dream someone told him: the dreamer found himself dressed in the costume of 2,000 years ago, a man pointed a gun at him, he said 'Go ahead and shoot', the bullet went through his brain, and he watched his body fall like a discarded costume while he himself continued unchanged.

A friend, an American aboard a British man-of-war in his dream, sent Neville the dream of a white horse that boarded the boat, caused injury and confusion, then jumped overboard, after which the ship ran aground and a spear went through the captain.

He tells the true story of Ronnie, mayor of Hamilton on a little island in the Indies, who began washing rum bottles for a penny, rose to own hotels, ran rum into the United States during Prohibition with nine indictments against him, never conceived of failure, and was cleared when Prohibition ended.

His father would never allow anyone, even his grown sons, to criticize a woman in his presence, and put woman on a pedestal to the day he died.

A friend who is present tonight told Neville, months ago, how he rose early in a semi-sleep, looked out over the city from high in the hills, and saw the buildings fuse and turn into pulsing life, then joy, then love beyond description.

From the same four-page typewritten letter, Neville reads how the writer inwardly heard his reserved producer — whose highest praise was "Good" — say "Great, just great!", then "Terrific!", then "Absolutely sensational!", and each time the producer said exactly that; and how, distressed by the power, the writer began with small things and imagined his rug-clawing cat clawing a mat in the backyard instead, which it did from the third day until it died.

The same letter tells how the writer ordered a Swiss record changer that was not in the country, prepared an outlet and designed a stand for it, imagined the machine standing on it, mailed the dealer a cheque in full — and two days later was jumped from twelfth to first on the list and given one of only four machines that arrived.