“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

The phone rang, though. Peg G. from the Star Gazette called; there was a fan from South Africa, just in town from NYC to see me. He was right there waiting, would I talk to him at least—on the phone? My whole arm hurt as I picked up the receiver.... I’d been right about people prowling around all right!

Peg told me he was in his forties; he told her he’d written me but probably left before I could answer the letter. I felt defensive and guilty; he was trying emotional blackmail, and I didn’t want to see him. But I thought of him, a stranger, in the newspaper office of a strange town....

“Hello,” I said when he came to the phone, and his voice was dull and flat, full of self pity; he was sure I wouldn’t see him. And instead of rousing sympathy in me his downcast mood had the opposite effect; I don’t care if you came from Timbuktu by refugee ship, I thought. His call reminded me finally of his letter and my response that I wouldn’t be able to see him during his trip. I said some usual polite things in a usual polite voice and that was that. The next day I learned from Peg that he’d come by bus, had to stay the night, didn’t have much money—his reality, I reminded myself firmly, not mine. Still, vaguely uneasy I called off a half-planned evening of company with friends—luckily before I’d actually invited them, and we had a Seth session instead, still another in an effort to get me out of my own physical problems. This one was at Rob’s suggestion.