Caddy Buddy books

She has been very
decent to you, hasn't she?"
"'Decent'? My God!" said Seaton.
I smoked on in silence; but he still continued to look at me with that
peculiar concentration I remembered of old.
"I don't think, perhaps, Withers," he began presently, "I don't think
you quite understand. Perhaps you are not quite our kind. You always
did, just like the other fellows, guy me at school. You laughed at me
that night you came to stay here--about the voices and all that. But I
don't mind being laughed at--because I know."
"Know what?" It was the same old system of dull question and evasive
answer.
"I mean I know that what we see and hear is only the smallest fraction
of what is. I know she lives quite out of this. She _talks_ to you; but
it's all make-believe. It's all a 'parlour game.' She's not really with
you; only pitting her outside wits against yours and enjoying the
fooling. She's living on inside, on what you're rotten without. That's
what it is--a cannibal feast. She's a spider. It does't much matter
what you call it. It means the same kind of thing.


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