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Veiller, Bayard, 1869-1943

"The Thirteenth Chair"

_)
ROSALIE. He says Ned, he wants Ned.
WALES. You want me to ask.
ROSALIE. He wants Ned to ask.
WALES. Do you know who killed you?
MRS. TRENT (_hysterically_). Oh, my God!
CROSBY. Keep still, Helen.
WALES. Can you tell the name? (ROSALIE _suddenly gives a long moan._)
Quick, the name, the name. Spencer, tell me who killed you--she's coming
out of her trance. I want the name. (ROSALIE _moans again. Her cry is
overtopped by a shriek from_ WALES.) Oh, my God! My back--oh! (_Then
there is a dead silence that lasts as long as it will hold._)
CROSBY. Wales, is anything the matter?
MRS. TRENT. Father, he's pulling at my hand.
CROSBY. The light, Will.
(WILLIAM _suddenly turns on the light at table._ WALES _is discovered
leaning forward, the circle is unbroken._)
MRS. TRENT. Look at him! Father! Look at him!
(CROSBY _drops_ ROSALIE'S _hand and springs forward towards_ WALES.
_At the same instant_ WALES _falls forward on his face to the floor.
The others all rise, chairs are knocked over in the confusion which
follows._)
CROSBY. Stand back, please. (_The others move back a little._ CROSBY
_leans over_ WALES.) Why, he--why--it's impossible.
MRS. CROSBY. Roscoe, look at your hand.
(CROSBY _looks at his hand, takes out his handkerchief and wipes it
hurriedly, then crosses suddenly to the door_ L.


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