Nine
Mark Easterbrook’s Narrative¹
I
“What exciting things happen in the country!” said Hermia lightly.
We had just finished dinner. A pot of black coffee was in front of us—I looked at her. The words were not quite what I had expected. I hadspent the last quarter of an hour telling her my story. She had listened in-telligently and with interest. But her response was not at all what I had ex-pected. The tone of her voice was indulgent—she seemed neither shockednor stirred.
“People who say that the country is dull and the towns full of excitementdon’t know what they are talking about,” she went on. “The last of thewitches have gone to cover in the tumbledown cottage, black masses arecelebrated in remote manor² houses by decadent³ young men. Superstitionruns rife⁴ in isolated⁵ hamlets. Middle- aged⁶ spinsters clank their falsescarabs and hold séances and planchettes run luridly⁷ over sheets of blankpaper. One could really write a very amusing series of articles on it all.
Why don’t you try your hand?”
“I don’t think you really understand what I’ve been telling you, Hermia.”
“But I do, Mark! I think it’s all tremendously interesting. It’s a page out ofhistory, all the lingering forgotten lore⁸ of the Middle Ages.”
“I’m not interested historically,” I said irritably⁹. “I’m interested in thefacts. In a list of names on a sheet of paper. I know what has happened tosome of those people. What’s going to happen or has happened to therest?”
“Aren’t you letting yourself get rather carried away?”

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