“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Fortunately, I started shaking my head right away. Fred looked pained but kept talking very smoothly, as Seth. I can’t reproduce everything he said, and how he said it because of the lack of time. The afternoon was cold. I wore my summer thongs on bare feet, and a plaid shirt and jeans, and began to shiver before long. I didn’t realize that when Fred’s Seth told me Fred was getting cold, he really meant it. I couldn’t believe what was happening, and was already wondering what to do to get out of the situation. I saw no car parked nearby.

I was just going back in after the hot drink when the dark-colored police car pulled up Holley Road and turned into the driveway. I waved to the officer driving. He was a youngish man with a mustache. He came inside the porch and I began to explain the situation to him as briefly as I could. “How did you get here?” he asked Fred. “I walked,” Fred answered. “Fred has read some of our books,” I said. “This is difficult to explain briefly, but he came here from Denver, he said, and he has no money, and nowhere to go when he leaves here. He’s given us those books and manuscripts” —I pointed to them, stacked up on the picnic table—“and he wants my wife to read them. I don’t have his address—”