The Sundial by Shirley Jackson Page A

it was full of germs?”
    “I remember,” Fancy said grimly.
    “Well, that is just what they are going to do with this diseased, filthy old world. Right in the incinerator.”
    “Did your father really tell you all this?” Maryjane asked.
    “It is as though something I had known all my life, and believed without ever really knowing what it was—some lovely, precious secret—had suddenly come into the open. When my father spoke to me he only reminded me of what I had always known, and forgotten. I am very happy about it.”
    “Who is ‘they’?” Fancy asked insistently.
    Aunt Fanny shook her head. “I am sure we will hear more about it,” she said.
    “What I don’t see,” Maryjane said petulantly, “is how it is going to help my asthma. Lionel used to rub my ankles.”
    Aunt Fanny put her hand gently on Maryjane’s arm. “Those who survive this catastrophe,” she said, “will be free of pain and hurt. They will be . . . a kind of chosen people, as it were.”
    “The Jews?” Maryjane said indifferently. “Weren’t they chosen the last time?”
    “I wish you would take me seriously,” Aunt Fanny said, her voice sharpening. “It’s not as though I had any choice in all this, I only say what I’m told, after all . Naturally you are included in any plan for the inhabitants of this house, but I can hardly see what earthly use you will be to us if you persist in saying every silly thing that comes into your head. After all, Maryjane, I am sure that there must be a great many people who would be glad to be saved when the world is destroyed. After all ,” and she rose and turned to the door.
    “You’re wearing your mother’s diamonds,” Maryjane said. “You know by rights they should have come to me. Lionel always said so.”
    “I’m interested,” Fancy said. “Aunt Fanny, I’m terribly interested. It ought to be a pretty big fire.”
    “Dreadful,” said Aunt Fanny.
    “I’d like to see it,” Fancy said.
    “Well, I’m sure your Aunt Fanny will let you watch,” Maryjane said. “Fanny, if you’re going downstairs remind them about my tray, will you?”
    _____
    Aunt Fanny swept downstairs and into the drawing room where Essex and Miss Ogilvie were drinking martinis with Mrs. Halloran. Essex, moving belatedly to hold the door for Aunt Fanny, was caught helpless, holding his glass aimlessly while Aunt Fanny passed him regally to take her chair unassisted.
    “A truly unusual day, Orianna,” she said. “Essex.”
    Essex sat down.
    Aunt Fanny gestured to Essex, said “A glass of sherry, if you please,” and then, to Mrs. Halloran, “Now that we know what is going to happen, Orianna, I think we had better decide where we stand.”
    “If I did not detect somewhere in that the air of a prepared speech,” Mrs. Halloran said, “I would be afraid of you, Fanny.”
    “Thank you, Essex.” Aunt Fanny noticed Miss Ogilvie nodded, and went on, “There will be no more of that , Orianna. You will be civil.”
    Mrs. Halloran opened her mouth and closed it again.
    “Let us not forget that your origins are low,” Aunt Fanny said. “There are areas of refinement not possible to one of your background. One area of refinement,” she explained with sweet patience, “is—if you will permit me to put a name to it—the supernormal. There you must allow me superiority, and it is the supernormal which has laid siege to this house, and captured it undefended. A little more, please, Essex?”
    “I have never seen this before,” Essex observed to the sherry decanter. “Aunt Fanny is possessed.”
    “Drinking spirits,” Miss Ogilvie said, nodding wisely.
    “Spirits indeed,” Aunt Fanny said. She smiled approvingly at Miss Ogilvie. “We are in a pocket of time, Orianna, a tiny segment of time suddenly pinpointed by a celestial eye.”
    “Now, you cannot suspect that of being a prepared speech,” Essex said to Mrs. Halloran.
    “I wish Aunt Fanny would stop babbling sacrilegious nonsense,”