“That voice warning us. That pounding on the table. The personality that approached me in my room last night. A young man.” “Who?” asked Barrett. “Belasco’s son.” They looked at her in silence. “You recall that Mr. Fischer mentioned him.” “But didn’t he say that no one was sure whether Belasco had a son or not?” Barrett said. Florence nodded. “But he did. He’s here now, suffering, tormented. He must have gone into spirit at an early age— just past twenty, I feel. He’s very young and very frightened— and, because he’s frightened, very angry, very hostile. I believe if we can convince him to go
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