“I want to thank you,” he said, speaking perfect English. “I came two weeks ago. I have thought over all you said. The path is lighter.”
“Were you the spirit who did not believe in God?”
“Yes, yes! I said so in my anger. I was so weary—so weary. Oh, the time, the endless time, the grey mist, the heavy weight of remorse! Hopeless! Hopeless! And you brought me comfort, you and this great Chinese spirit. You gave me the first kind words I have had since I died!”
“When was it that you died?”
“Oh! It seems an eternity. We do not measure as you do. It is a long, horrible dream without change or break.”
“Who was king in England?”
“Victoria was queen. I had attuned my mind to matter and so it clung to matter. I did not believe in a future life. Now I know that I was all wrong, but I could not adapt my mind to new conditions.”
“Is it bad where you are?”
“It is all—all grey. That is the awful part of it. One’s surroundings are so horrible.”
“But there are many more. You are not alone.”