The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

Finally they went off to their rooms. Honda had the
sort of dream he had denied ever having, a dream of
an examination.
On the second floor of a wooden frame
schoolhouse, rocking so violently that it might have
been hanging from a branch of a tree, Honda, in his
teens, took up the answer sheets being passed
briskly down rows of desks. Kiyoaki, he knew, would
be two or three seats behind him. Looking from the
questions on the blackboard to the answer sheets,
Honda felt very sure of himself. He sharpened his
pencils to chisels. He had the answers immediately.
There was no need to hurry. The poplars outside were
swaying in the wind.
He awoke in the night and every detail of the dream
came back to him.
It had without question been a dream of an
examination, and yet Honda had had none of the
harried feelings that should go with such dreams.
What had made him dream?
Since only he and Keiko knew of their conversation
and it was not Keiko, then it had to be Honda himself.
But he had not had the slightest wish to dream. He
would not have made himself dream without
consulting his own wishes in the matter.
Honda had of course read many books on