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I smile vacuously. I shuffled, smiling vacuously and clutching the type-script of The Girl who Waited, to the O.P. corner. I caught the eye of a tall lady in salmon-pink, and said "Good evening" huskily my voice is always husky behind the scenes: elsewhere it is like some beautiful bell. A piercing whisper of "Sh-h-h-!" came from somewhere close at hand.
"Barida, I'll have all my data available for you before noon tomorrow: you can make up copies for all Team members." "Make mine on microfilm, for projection," von Heldenfeld said. "Mine, too," Sir Neville Lawton added. "Better make microfilm copies for everybody," Heym ben-Hillel suggested. "They're handier than type-script."
It was but a fortnight after this event, in which I participated with such unalloyed pleasure, that the telegraphic yellow paper, with its type-script message, announced that the earthly house of the tabernacle of Carleton's spirit had been dissolved, and that his building of God, the "house not made with hands," had been entered. The story of Carleton's last thirteen days on earth is soon told.
Peggie Wynne had never been so glad of anything in her life as for Selwood's immediate presence at that moment: Selwood felt a world of unspeakable gratitude that he was there, just when help and protection were wanted. For each recognized, with a sure instinct and intuition, that those innocent-looking lines of type-script signified much, heralded some event of dire importance.
These copies were distributed at noon, while the Team was lunching, along with carbons of the original type-script. He was the first to leave the table, going directly to the basement, where Alex Unpronounceable and the man who had got his alias from the works of P. G. Wodehouse were listening in on the telephone calls going in and out through the Team-center switch-board, and making recordings.
There was a piquant admixture of love, religion, and Eastern scenery which seemed to point to a record number of editions. I took the type-script of this book with me to the Temple. Hatton was in. I flung When It Was Lurid on the table, and sat down. "What's this?" inquired Hatton, fingering the brown-paper parcel.
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