Psycho - Three Complete Novels
“Here on the hilltop, the fog was a solid mass. As he stared out across the semicircular driveway, he could scarcely distinguish the outlines of the sprawling structure beyond its borders.
He glanced at his watch. Five after eight. Where was Roy Ames?
Claiborne rolled the window down, listening for the sound of a car approaching, but nothing stirred in the silent street below. After a moment he found himself shivering and he reached out to roll the window back up again.
The thin glass pane provided a barrier against dampness and darkness, but it couldn’t shut out the thought of what the fog might hold. And the thought was colder than fog, darker than night. The thought of Norman prowling, Norman with a knife. He could sense his presence, feel him out there, waiting.
Don’t let your imagination run away with you.
Good advice, but what did it mean? What is imagination, and just how does one distinguish it from thought?
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