Grief dreams of not being ordered about by anyone (neither people nor, say, the steppe monsters, of which he has a slight superstitious fear). A general air of mockery. He knows something highly compromising about you; he knows the nets you’ve let yourself get caught in—and he relishes knowing it before you do. He may sneer and grimace, cocking his head to one side and then the other, as if appraising you like merchandise.