"Later," Perry said. He gouged out another eye socket.
"Now," I insisted. "It's the best thing I've ever done."
Perry considered this for the space of three seconds. "Oh, all right."
He went to the small sink in the corner of the room, and rinsed the
clay from his hands. He dried them quickly on a soiled towel, walked
over to the lumpy divan that sprawled beneath his long window, and
said, "Let's have it."
I extended the manuscript and he took it. I lit a cigarette and watched
him while he read, my chest expanding with pride.
When he finished, he put the manuscript down beside him and lighted a
cigarette of his own.
"A bit old fashioned, isn't it?" he asked.
"How so?" I answered, ready to spring to the defense of the story.
"Well, using Mesmerism for Hypnotism, for example."
"They're synonoymous!" I shouted.
Perry stared at me curiously. "It's not a very well known story," he
said, "but I still don't think you will get away with it--no matter how
much innocence you profess."
"What in the name of God are you talking about?" I asked.
He slapped the back of his hand onto the manuscript. "This. _The Facts
In The Case of M. Valdemar._ That's what."
"That's not the title I gave it," I said indignantly.
"No, but it's the title Poe gave it."