Better to Eat You

Better to Eat You by Charlotte Armstrong Page A

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Authors: Charlotte Armstrong
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you?” said Edgar. “Or didn’t you ask?” His little eyes were anxious and suspicious.
    David shrugged. “I don’t discourage easily.”
    Edgar’s face changed and became nervous and desperate. “Listen Wakeley, why don’t you go away from here? All you do is upset her. She’s miserable enough … If you care anything …”
    â€œI know what upsets her. I don’t happen to believe in junk like Jonahs and jinxes.”
    â€œSarah does.”
    â€œThen Sarah must learn better.”
    â€œWho are you to say?” Edgar was getting angry. “You think it’s smart to be stubborn. Did it ever occur to you …?” Edgar licked his lip.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œ You might be bad luck for Sarah?”
    â€œWhat do you mean by that?” David’s gaze bored into the doctor’s eyes and they evaded.
    â€œI’m trying … I’m trying to keep things on an even keel in this house,” said Edgar in a high nervous voice. “I’m responsible for Mr. Fox’s health and for Sarah’s and I’ve got to have cooperation. If you’d just realize you’re making a nuisance of yourself. Let me … let me handle this. You don’t know what you are doing. I’m telling you, it’s best for everyone if you go away.”
    â€œI’m sure it would be best for someone,” said David, “but not necessarily Sarah.”
    â€œYes. Sarah, ” said Edgar. “Believe me.” But his concentration broke. His head lifted. His ears seemed to prick up. He said, “Malvina?”
    She was entering the house, stripping gloves off her hands. “May I see you a minute, Edgar?” she said coaxingly, mysteriously.
    David said, “Excuse me,” but Edgar didn’t hear it. Malvina seemed to pay no attention either as he went by them, out of the house.
    â€œNow, then,” said Grandfather, “tears, Sarah? Why were you crying?”
    â€œI feel so bad about David’s work lost …”
    â€œWork? But he can’t have done much in one morning.”
    â€œAll his notes, Grandfather. He must have been collecting them for months.”
    â€œIs that so?” said Grandfather. “Months, really? Well now, surely David doesn’t blame you, does he? David is fond of you, I think.” She looked as if she’d cry. “And you are fond of David, Sarah?”
    Her head rolled. “I don’t dare be fond of anyone.”
    â€œNot fond of me? ” he said archly.
    â€œOnly you. I don’t bring you bad luck, do I, Grandfather?”
    â€œMy dear little Sarah. I have outgrown bad luck, I think. I am ancient and invulnerable.” Fox glanced at Mrs. Monteeth, who had placed herself in a chair and produced some knitting. She looked patient and immovable and quite detached. “But we mustn’t speak about dreadful things, fire and loss and bad luck,” said Grandfather, “when it makes you unhappy. Tell me, Sarah, do you remember England?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you remember when your mother first brought you to see me? What a little girl you were then, eh?”
    â€œI remember.” Her head turned on the pillow. Her lashes had come down. More than half her thought was on David, still. Grandfather’s voice went on.
    â€œDo you remember going to the theatre to see my dear old Lupino and me?”
    â€œNot very well,” she said. “I must have been too small.”
    â€œYou didn’t go many times.”
    â€œOnly once, I think.”
    â€œWell, you were small. What would my dear old Lupino think, I wonder, if he could see me as I am? Here on this fabulous western edge of the world.”
    â€œIf he hadn’t died you wouldn’t have come here, Grandfather,” she murmured.
    â€œNo, that’s true, dearie. True. Do you remember a week end in the country?”
    â€œWill I ever forget it?” Sarah

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