“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

A stranger stood there, a man with thinning hair, deeply set dark eyes, a pudgy face, perhaps in his late 40’s—I’m not sure. His hair was black and straight. He wore a white business-type shirt, a tie, no coat, and gray business-type pants. I could see that his pointed shoes looked rather worn. A fat brown suitcase and an attaché case were on the ramp beside him. As soon as he started talking I knew we were in trouble.

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—”