A Charmed Life Read Online Free PDF

conceive it, John.”
    “I don’t believe it,” he said stoutly, his features becoming very prim and precise. “You were just the way you are now when I met you.” Martha shook her head. “That was because of you,” she explained. “You made me nice. And now I’m relapsing.” She glanced at his hand. “Look!” she cried. “It’s bleeding again!” And in fact, while they had been drinking the Old-Fashioneds, a little fresh blood had seeped through the bandage.
    “It’s nothing,” said John. “I’ve been using my hand, that’s all.”
    Martha turned pale. “See?” she said. “That’s typical. Up to this minute I hadn’t thought to notice which hand it was.” It was the right hand, of course. “And the bandage isn’t sterile, either,” she continued in an excited, self-accusatory tone. “I dropped it on the kitchen table.”
    John laughed. “Nothing is sterile,” he said.
    “We must get you to the doctor!” she exclaimed. “I don’t trust myself to take care of you. I don’t even know any more whether I love you or not. I don’t trust myself in anything.”
    He smiled. “You love me,” he said “ Go on with the dinner.” “Do I?” demanded Martha, looking at him eagerly and hopefully. He nodded. Suddenly she began to laugh. “What a ridiculous question!” she said, in her normal, light, clear voice. “How absurd. I sound completely mad. Am I?” “Have another drink,” John replied. “I don’t think we should,” said Martha, beginning to slice the onion. He poured a second drink for himself. “Well, half,” she said, when he held the bottle over her glass.
    She jumped up to turn the chicken in the pan, returned to her seat, and started chopping the onion and the herbs with determination, resolved to be matter-of-fact and cheerful—the way John liked her. “Did I ever tell you,” she began, smiling faintly, “about the Young’s Assumption Day party? It’s the climax of the social season. All the New Leeds irregulars are there with their service stripes and wound badges. It’s like a veterans’ convention. It happens every year, and every year the doctor is busy from midnight to dawn with splints and bandages. The drugstore lays in an extra stock of Covermark. The ambulance driver used to say that he slept with his clothes on that night. Even the animals get hurt. Sandy Gray threw a knife at Ellen one time and hit their French poodle. There was a big scandal in the town because the new doctor wouldn’t sew up the dog’s wound. The Grays were furious; the old doctor always treated dogs.” “Did the dog die?” sharply interposed John. “No,” said Martha. “Of course not. Nobody dies. Hardly ever. That’s it; they just get crippled.” “It seems to me,” observed John, “that you’re all wrong about the death principle you keep harping on. The inhabitants, from your own account, seem to bear a charmed life.” He set his lips somewhat primly, as though he had scored a telling point. Martha ignored the bite in the word “harping .” “It could be,” she mused, looking up at him with wondering eyes. “Yes, of course, it could be. But you could read it the other way, too. They could be dead already. You can’t kill a ghost, you know.” She reflected. “That’s exactly what I feel like,” she confided, elated by the discovery. “A revenante. One who comes back.” To emphasize the point, she brought the knife down hard on the onion, which slipped from her grasp; her left forefinger slowly began to bleed.
    They stared at each other incredulously. “We’re just like the others,” whispered Martha. They both began to laugh, in loud, resonant peals. The whole house seemed to laugh; the pans rattled on the kitchen walls. “Sh-h-h,” said Martha. “Somebody might hear.” Though there was nobody for miles about, John modulated his amusement. “Who?” he muttered. “Why, the Fates,” said Martha with a sort of wild gaiety. “They can hear that