"Perhaps," she began, "it is the looking of a spirit, from out of the fibers of your garment, into our world with a peeping..."
I was aghast at the thought of a shade finding it suitable to peer from a perch upon my arm. Had I become some kind of magnet to the needy spectre? Was I to be doomed to a life of astral tourism? Was I now nothing more than a Spirit's Guide?
With a glass, I examined the speck. Closely I checked it, squinting and watering.
"Who is in there?" said I, hoping for a response. "Who are you and what are you looking at?"
But there was nothing in response.
I went to bed with a hole in my head which only the mystery's solution could fill.
