But the strangest thing was — I wish I could make you understand how positively EERIE it makes me feel — that just the instant before he said, "It is wonderful to be understood!" I knew he was going to say it. I got that psychically, too!
"Fothy," I said, "It is absolutely WEIRD — I eavesdropped on your brain the second time!"
"Wonderful!" he said, "but the still more wonderful thing would be — — "
And before he could finish the sentence it happened the THIRD time! I interrupted and finished it for him.
"The still more wonderful thing would be," I said, "if it were NOT so."
"Heavens!" he cried, "this is getting positively ghostly."
And you know, it almost was. Not that I'm superstitious at all, you know, in the vulgar way. But in the dim room — I always have just candlelight in the drawing-room — it fits in with my more reflective moods, somehow — I believe one must suit one's environment to one's mood, don't you? — in the dim room, all those thoughts flying back and forty between my brain and his gave me a positively creepy feeling. And Fothy was so shaken I had to give him a drink of Papa's Scotch before he went out into the night.
SOME BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS
(Fothergil Finch, the Vers Libre Bard)
OH, the Beautiful Mud! I always leave it on my boots. It is sacred to me. Because in it are the souls of lilies!