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"That is a good image," he said. "Well, I shall tell you. My thesis is this, I want you to
believe."
"To believe what?"
"To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard once of an American
who so defined faith, `that faculty which enables us to believe things which we know to
be untrue.' For one, I follow that man. He meant that we shall have an open mind, and
not let a little bit of truth check the rush of the big truth, like a small rock does a railway
truck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him, and we value him, but all the
same we must not let him think himself all the truth in the universe."
"Then you want me not to let some previous conviction inure the receptivity of my mind
with regard to some strange matter. Do I read your lesson aright?" "Ah, you are my
favorite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now that you are willing to understand, you
have taken the first step to understand. You think then that those so small holes in the
children's throats were made by the same that made the holes in Miss Lucy?"
"I suppose so."
He stood up and said solemnly, "Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were so! But alas!
No. It is worse, far, far worse."
"In God's name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?" I cried. He threw himself
with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed his elbows on the table, covering his
face with his hands as he spoke.
"They were made by Miss Lucy!"