thought. Yet it wasn't only anger; that was clear.
It was a plea as well.
6:21 P.M.
Florence walked into the dining hall. "Good evening," she said.
Fischer's smile was cursory. Florence sat down. "Have you seen this couple yet?" she asked, gesturing toward the table, which was set for supper.
"No."
She smiled. "Funny if there wasn't any couple."
Fischer showed no sign of amusement. Florence glanced toward the great hall. "I wonder where the Barretts are," she said.
She looked back at him. "Well, what have you been doing?"
"Scouting." Fischer lifted the cover from one of the serving dishes and eyed the heap of lamb chops. He replaced the cover.
"You should eat," she said.
He pushed the dish toward her. "Maybe we should wait," she said.
"Go ahead."
Florence waited a few more seconds. Then she said, "I'll have some salad." She served her plate and looked at him. He shook his head. "A little?" Fischer shook his head again.
Florence ate some salad before she spoke again. "Were you in contact with Belasco's son when you were here before?"
"All I was in contact with was a live wire."
The sound of footsteps made them look around. "Good evening," Florence said.
"Good evening." Barrett smiled politely; Edith nodded. "Are you feeling better?" Barrett asked.
Florence nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."
"Good," Barrett and his wife sat down, served themselves, and started eating.
"We were talking about Belasco's son," Florence said.
"Ah, yes; Belasco's son."
Something in Barrett's tone made Florence bristle. Suddenly the thought of having been subjected by him to the indignity of a physical examination galled her. The costume, those ridiculous precautions: ropes and nets and infrared lamps, hand and foot plates turning lights on, cameras. She tried to repress a mounting anger but couldn't. How dare Barrett treat her this way? Her position in this project was just as vital as his.
"Will it never end?" she said.
The others looked at her. "Were you addressing me?" inquired Barrett.
"I was." Again she tried to quell her anger, but again the vision of the physical examination flashed across her mind, the costume, the absurd safeguards against fraud.
"Will what never end?" asked Barrett.
"This attitude of doubt. Distrust."
"Distrust?"
"Why should mediums be expected to produce phenomena only under conditions which science dictates?" she demanded.
"We're not machines. We're human beings. These rigid, unyielding demands by science have done more harm than good to parapsychology."
"Miss Tanner—" Barrett looked confused. "What brought this on? Have I—"
"I'm not a medium for the fun of it, you know." Florence cut him off. The more she spoke, the more infuriated she became.
"It's often painful, often unrewarding."
"Don't you think—?"
"It just so happens I believe that mediumship is God's manifestation in man." She couldn't stop herself. "'When I speak with thee,'" she quoted angrily. "'I will open thy mouth, and thou shalt say to them: Thus saith the Lord.'"
27
"Miss Tanner—"
"There is nothing in the Bible—not a single recorded phenomenon—which does not occur today, whether it be sights or sounds, shaking of the house, or coming through closed doors: rushing winds, levitations, automatic writing, or the speaking in tongues."
There was a heavy silence. Florence glared at Barrett, conscious of Fischer and Edith staring at her. Somewhere, deep inside her mind, she heard a warning cry, but fury stilled it. She watched Barrett pour himself some coffee, watched him pick up his cup. He looked at her. "Miss Tanner," he said, "I don't know what's bothering you, but—"
He broke off as the cup exploded in his hand. Edith jerked back, gasping. Barrett, frozen, gaped at the shard of handle still in his fingers. Blood was starting to drip from the cut in his thumb. Florence felt a pounding at her temples. Fischer looked around in startlement. "What in God's name—?" Barrett started.
He was drowned out as the glass beside
It was a plea as well.
6:21 P.M.
Florence walked into the dining hall. "Good evening," she said.
Fischer's smile was cursory. Florence sat down. "Have you seen this couple yet?" she asked, gesturing toward the table, which was set for supper.
"No."
She smiled. "Funny if there wasn't any couple."
Fischer showed no sign of amusement. Florence glanced toward the great hall. "I wonder where the Barretts are," she said.
She looked back at him. "Well, what have you been doing?"
"Scouting." Fischer lifted the cover from one of the serving dishes and eyed the heap of lamb chops. He replaced the cover.
"You should eat," she said.
He pushed the dish toward her. "Maybe we should wait," she said.
"Go ahead."
Florence waited a few more seconds. Then she said, "I'll have some salad." She served her plate and looked at him. He shook his head. "A little?" Fischer shook his head again.
Florence ate some salad before she spoke again. "Were you in contact with Belasco's son when you were here before?"
"All I was in contact with was a live wire."
The sound of footsteps made them look around. "Good evening," Florence said.
"Good evening." Barrett smiled politely; Edith nodded. "Are you feeling better?" Barrett asked.
Florence nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."
"Good," Barrett and his wife sat down, served themselves, and started eating.
"We were talking about Belasco's son," Florence said.
"Ah, yes; Belasco's son."
Something in Barrett's tone made Florence bristle. Suddenly the thought of having been subjected by him to the indignity of a physical examination galled her. The costume, those ridiculous precautions: ropes and nets and infrared lamps, hand and foot plates turning lights on, cameras. She tried to repress a mounting anger but couldn't. How dare Barrett treat her this way? Her position in this project was just as vital as his.
"Will it never end?" she said.
The others looked at her. "Were you addressing me?" inquired Barrett.
"I was." Again she tried to quell her anger, but again the vision of the physical examination flashed across her mind, the costume, the absurd safeguards against fraud.
"Will what never end?" asked Barrett.
"This attitude of doubt. Distrust."
"Distrust?"
"Why should mediums be expected to produce phenomena only under conditions which science dictates?" she demanded.
"We're not machines. We're human beings. These rigid, unyielding demands by science have done more harm than good to parapsychology."
"Miss Tanner—" Barrett looked confused. "What brought this on? Have I—"
"I'm not a medium for the fun of it, you know." Florence cut him off. The more she spoke, the more infuriated she became.
"It's often painful, often unrewarding."
"Don't you think—?"
"It just so happens I believe that mediumship is God's manifestation in man." She couldn't stop herself. "'When I speak with thee,'" she quoted angrily. "'I will open thy mouth, and thou shalt say to them: Thus saith the Lord.'"
27
"Miss Tanner—"
"There is nothing in the Bible—not a single recorded phenomenon—which does not occur today, whether it be sights or sounds, shaking of the house, or coming through closed doors: rushing winds, levitations, automatic writing, or the speaking in tongues."
There was a heavy silence. Florence glared at Barrett, conscious of Fischer and Edith staring at her. Somewhere, deep inside her mind, she heard a warning cry, but fury stilled it. She watched Barrett pour himself some coffee, watched him pick up his cup. He looked at her. "Miss Tanner," he said, "I don't know what's bothering you, but—"
He broke off as the cup exploded in his hand. Edith jerked back, gasping. Barrett, frozen, gaped at the shard of handle still in his fingers. Blood was starting to drip from the cut in his thumb. Florence felt a pounding at her temples. Fischer looked around in startlement. "What in God's name—?" Barrett started.
He was drowned out as the glass beside
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