The Sundial

by Shirley Jackson

They might not understand, down in the village, and we must not indulge our own sentimental memories at the expense of public opinion. I think not. In any case,”

Not one of the people around Aunt Fanny believed her father’s warning, but they were all afraid of the snake.

“that we are like people at a summer resort, waiting for their vacations to end. We have never had anything to do, you know, but now we are waiting besides, and it is almost unbearable.”

“Oh, dear.” Miss Ogilvie looked for help to Mrs. Willow, to Julia. “I couldn’t really say, not haying had that much experience. Well … food, I guess.”

“The sight of one’s own heart is degrading; people are not meant to look inward—that’s why they’ve been given bodies, to hide their souls.”

“You, sir,” the man said, addressing Essex. “Do you atone?” “Daily,” said Essex. “Sin?” “When I can,” said Essex manfully. “Metal?” “I beg your pardon?” “How do you stand on metal? Allow yourselves metal fastenings? Meat? Ills of the flesh?” “I am heir to all of them,” said Essex, inspired.

“You would have to cook poorly, to meet my ideal.

In these pictures Aunt Fanny could not find her mother, who was dead, but only a girl in a book, whose story was tragically swift, from girl to wife to mother, and dull,

am my mother and I am always thinking about my darling children.

“Who wants to be safe, for heaven’s sakes?” Fancy was scornful. “I’d rather live in a world full of other people, even dangerous people. I’ve been safe all my life. I’ve never even played with anyone, except my dolls.” Once again she was thoughtful, moving her hand along the corner of the doll house in a gesture oddly reminiscent of her grandmother. “If I could,” she said at last, “I would make it stop, all of this.”

I can tell you there’s no heart to anything any more; when you dance with a boy he’s only looking over your shoulder at some other boy, and the only real people left any more are the shadows on the television screens.”

Slay