A woman friend with an extraordinarily keen ear telephoned Neville the day of the lecture, distressed: she had 'played back the record' for a male neighbour who wanted to be rid of a disturbing family nearby, and within days that couple were killed on the highway, leaving three children.

The night before, at a 250-man motorcycle club party in the same hall, a woman walked into the kitchen with a left coat claiming her brother had left it; the supervisor Mr. Harrison caught the lie about her brother's employer and took the coat back.

The same friend told him some months earlier of a dream in which, after events below deck including falling in love with a Negress though happily married to a Caucasian woman, he came up on deck to find the ship setting sail toward the mainland - which Neville read as going home.

His friend Sharon, present at the lecture, told him that on reading a new edition of The Lost Books of the Bible and Forgotten Books of Eden she found recorded there her own experience at fourteen, when at the dinner table her mother offered her a glass of milk and time stood still, her parents and sister frozen; she fled to her bed in tears, and on turning the pages to escape the book she read the line from Ode 19 of the Odes of Solomon about a cup of milk offered and drunk.

A friend of his — a serious student of the mysteries who works daily with his concordance despite his business — drove Neville home yesterday and gave him an interpretation of "I am that I am" as the God of this age and of that age.

The same Bob, tired of the bumper-to-bumper drive to the RCA display area, spent the ride imagining himself downtown where he had worked for thirteen years; he was the one man in the whole building fired before Christmas, and ended up working downtown two blocks from his old job.

The same correspondent writes that in July, fully awake after dinner, she thought of Neville — believing him still in Barbados, since he had left in March and said he would not return until the fall — and he suddenly stood before her in a grey business suit, said 'There is no time', and vanished.

Louise telephoned Neville from New York at three in the afternoon to tell him that her husband Joseph, aged 77, had died of a ruptured aorta in her arms and in the arms of their son Neville, Neville Goddard's namesake.

A few years ago in Barbados Neville asked his brother Victor about the family business, and Victor innocently remarked that the man owning two-thirds of it worked long hours and seemed to be getting tired; six months ago that man asked Victor to buy him out, and Victor got the business at his own price.