Jim murmured in a low voice, “The man on the cliff! The young man and the girl in distress!”
Dolores shook her head. “No. This is someone else. Closer. Stronger. The thoughts are very strong.”
“Can’t you see anything, Dolores?” Dr. Weatherby touched her, shook her gently. “Try, child. Tell them to think about themselves.”
“I see—” she stopped, then stammered; “I see . . . a light. A very big light. There are people—”
“Men?”
“Yes. Men. Three or four of them. Sitting near a light. It shines so white. It hurts.” But she put her hand, not to her eyes but to her temple. “I’m thinking to them, Why can’t I see you? I want to see you! Wait. Now, I understand. He, someone thinks at me, Try your telescope! Haven’t you a telescope? Soon you will see us. We have seen you for a very long time.”
Alice blurted out, “How long, Dolores? Ask them that.”
“No,” commanded Dr. Weatherby. “That’s absurd. Dolores—”
But her hands had dropped from her forehead. “It’s gone. I’m tired. My head is tired.”
Jim drew me to the window. “Look there! I was on watch. When this began appearing I called everybody. But then suddenly Dolores began getting the thoughts.”