Mr. King!... Mr. King was watching him!
The director of that group, whose structure was founded upon the
wreckage of human souls, was watching him! Because of a certain
sympathy which existed between his present emotions and those which had
threatened to obsess him whilst the Eurasian was in the room, he half
believed that it was she who peered down at him, now... or she, and
another.
The lamp swung gently to and fro, turning slowly to the right and
then revolving again to the left, giving life in its gyrations to
the intermingled figures on the walls. The atmosphere of the room was
nauseating; it was beginning to overpower him....
Creative power of thought... what startling possibilities it opened
up. Almost it seemed, if Sir Brian Malpas were to be credited, that
the collective mind-force of a group of opium smokers had created the
"glamor" of a woman--an Oriental woman--who visited them regularly in
their trances. Or had that vision a prototype in the flesh--whom he had
seen?...
Creative power of thought... MR. KING! He was pursuing Mr. King; whilst
Mr. King might be nothing more than a thought-form--a creation of
cumulative thought--an elemental spirit which became visible to his
subjects, his victims, which had power over them; which could slay
them as the "shell" slew Frankenstein, his creator; which could
materialize:.
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