By Barbara Michaels
For the site visitors at Ruth Bennet's trendy Georgetwon domestic, the seance used to be only a playful diversion . . . until eventually Ruth's niece Sara spoke in a deep guttural voice no longer her personal . . . and the sport turned frighteningly real.. the recent York occasions calls omit Michaels a expert, announcing, "When the seances get going and the ghosts stroll (and talk), even the nonbelievers take notice." formerly released in 1969 via Fawcett.
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What are you two drinking? Thanks, no; I don’t think I could face vodka in any form at this hour. ” “You constantly amaze me. ” “I’ll get it,” Sara said. She went out, with Bruce following. “Now,” Pat said, when the tea finally made its appearance; it had taken quite some time. ” “Good heavens, you make me sound like a 56 Barbara Michaels murderer. I’ve invited a few people to dinner next week, that’s all. Mrs. ” Bruce leaned forward, elbows on his knees, black eyes mocking. “I didn’t know you were interested in spiritualism, Mrs.
Never having seen Alan, I can’t say. Your mother’s description was pretty ghastly, but I’m willing to allow for exaggeration. ” “That was just Mother being silly. ” Sara chuckled; she had a delicious laugh, soft and throaty and contagious, which brought out dimples in both cheeks. Ammie, Come Home 27 “Ruth, you’re marvelous, you really are. I admire your loyalty to Mother—after all, she is your sister. ” “Your mother’s attitude toward it. ” Her tone was light, but Sara had a sensitivity for nuances which was rare, Ruth thought, in a girl of her age.
MacDougal he had just opened a new psychedelic shop on Wisconsin Avenue, which sold posters of the Beatles in various incredible costumes, luminous pinups of Indian mystics, and atrociously made handcrafted leather sandals. As her eyes adjusted Ruth realized that the room was not entirely dark; the glow from the fireplace made it possible to see shapes, and glinted redly off objects such as Mrs. MacDougal’s diamonds and the silver fillet the medium wore in her hair. After a long silence, broken once by a giggle, and a concerted shussshing sound directed against the giggler, Ruth felt herself getting drowsy.
Ammie, Come Home by Barbara Michaels