“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.

Standing outside the screen door, Fred closed his eyes and dropped his head down to his chest. I heard and felt nothing. “I didn’t get it,” I said. not roughly. “Tell me, how did you get here? Don’t you have any money? Where are you going when you leave here?”

Fred Conyers stayed on my mind through the rest of the day, after I’d waved to him as the policeman backed out of the driveway and headed down the hill. He sat in the back seat very docilely, in his white shirt and dark-colored tie. Was he secretly relieved at the way things had worked out? Even in his drastic situation, I thought at the time, our society in some fashion had a way to take care of him, hopefully. But would society—could it—transport him all the way home to Denver, were he telling the truth about his origins?