He felt it roll over him in a wave; the realisation that a story was coming. It was like standing on a beach, staring at a huge, overbearing tidal wave as it builds up higher and higher in slow motion, white horses straining against blue reigns at its crest. He had had dreams like that as a child. He had feared then that the wave would sweep everything away, or sweep him away, and drown him or leave him alone. Now he welcomed the wave, the metaphor, the coming story.

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