Once and again he glanced
round at the ordinary-looking room, the curtained windows, the dull
furniture; and the second time he looked back at the pencil he was
almost certain that some movement had just taken place with it. He
resolutely fixed his eyes upon it, bending every faculty he possessed
into one tense attitude of attention. And a moment later he could not
resist a sudden movement and a swift indrawing of breath; for there,
before his very eyes, the pencil tilted, very hesitatingly and
quiveringly, as if pulled by a spider's thread. He heard, too, the
tiny tap of its fall.
He glanced at the medium, who jerked his head impatiently, as if for
silence. Then once more the silence came down.
A minute later there was no longer the possibility of a doubt.
There before the boy's eyes, as he stared, white-faced, with parted
lips, the pencil rose, hesitated, quivered; but, instead of falling
back again, hung so for a moment on its point, forming with itself an
acute angle with the plane of the table in an entirely impossible
position; then, once more rising higher, swung on its point in a
quarter circle, and after one more pause and quiver, rose to its full
height, remained poised one instant, then fell with a sudden movement,
rolled across the table and dropped on the carpet.
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