Each week Lady Lavinia Loveless holds a sitting at Cruikshank Manor, for the comfort of the Colonel and the improvement of her purse. The lamps are put out; the circle is joined; the dead oblige. Every account of the dark is sworn true — and one is an invention.
Taken down by the parish, each upon their oath. The medium’s own account is not doubted — whatever else may be said of her, she knows her business.