know men.  She  unconsciously  sees men  as  potentially
wanton  murderers,  because perhaps as a young child she
saw her  parents make love,  and  did  not understand.  For
this Colleen  Coleman,  the  primal  scene  interpretation
would  not have been  a matter of interest, but a matter of
possibly   vital   truth,   because  it   might  have  given  an
answer to her most costly fears.
     What  I  wish  to leave  with  you  is that  Colleen  is  a
wholesome young woman  and  a  very good student,  and
as unlikely a candidate  for psychoanalytic  treatment as I
can  bring  to  mind.  And  yet  she dreams—of  airplanes,
and  crossroads,  and life, and death, and birth—doing  all
this on  one occasion  by  composing  in  her sleep a tone
poem with variations on the theme of her own name.

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