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Updated: May 3, 2025
"That's what you said last time. I remember 'Lopa. She's your 'control' I think you said." "I'm Lopa," said the husky voice. "I'm Lopa herself." "You mean I'm to suppose you're not Mrs. Horner now?" "Never was Mrs. Horner!" the voice declared, speaking undeniably from Mrs.
He tell Lopa he's your grandfather no, he says 'father. He's your father." "What's his appearance?" "How?" "What does he look like?" "Very fine! White beard, but not long beard. He says someone else wants to speak to you. See here. Lady. Not his wife, though. No. Very fine lady! Fine lady, fine lady!" "Is it my sister?" Eugene asked. "Sister? No. She is shaking her head.
Horner's parted lips closed again abruptly, and became compressed; her shoulders moved a little, then jerked repeatedly; her small chest heaved; she gasped, and the compressed lips relaxed to a slight contortion, then began to move, whispering and bringing forth indistinguishable mutterings. Suddenly she spoke in a loud, husky voice: "Lopa is here!" "Yes," Eugene said dryly.
She wants to tell me her name to tell you. She wants you to understand names are hard to make. She says you must think of something that makes a sound." Here the voice seemed to put a question to an invisible presence and to receive an answer. "A little sound or a big sound? She says it might be a little sound or a big sound. She says a ring oh, Lopa knows! She means a bell! That's it, a bell."
Horner's lips but with such conviction that Eugene, in spite of everything, began to feel himself in the presence of a third party, who was none the less an individual, even though she might be another edition of the apparently somnambulistic Mrs. Horner. "Never was Mrs. Horner or anybody but just Lopa. Guide." "You mean you're Mrs. Horner's guide?" he asked.
Going over the mortifying, plain facts of his experience, he found that Mrs. Horner, or the subdivision of Mrs. Horner known as "Lopa," had told him to think of a bell and of a colour, and that being furnished with these scientific data, he had leaped to the conclusion that he spoke with Isabel Amberson!
She has pretty brown hair. She is fond of you. She is someone who knows you very well but she is not your sister. She is very anxious to say something to you very anxious. Very fond of you; very anxious to talk to you. Very glad you came here oh, very, glad!" "What is her name?" "Name," the voice repeated, and seemed to ruminate. "Name hard to get always very hard for Lopa. Name.
"Your guide now," said the voice with emphasis, to which was incongruously added a low laugh. "You came here once before. Lopa remembers." "Yes so did Mrs. Horner." Lopa overlooked his implication, and continued, quickly: "You build. Build things that go. You came here once and old gentleman on this side, he spoke to you. Same old gentleman here now.
Eugene looked grave. "Does she mean her name is Belle?" "Not quite. Her name is longer." "Perhaps," he suggested, "she means that she was a belle." "No. She says she thinks you know what she means. She says you must think of a colour. What colour?" Again Lopa addressed the unknown, but this time seemed to wait for an answer. "Perhaps she means the colour of her eyes," said Eugene. "No.
His elbows pressed hard upon the table, and, his head between his hands, he leaned forward, staring at the commonplace figure in the easy-chair. "What does she wish to say to me?" "She is happy because you know her. No she is troubled. Oh a great trouble! Something she wants to tell you. She wants so much to tell you. She wants Lopa to tell you. This is a great trouble.
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