When I Was a Witch & Other Stories by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Author:Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: feminist fiction; women's literature; short stories; Edwardian fiction; classic fiction
Publisher: Flame Tree Publishing
Published: 2024-07-18T08:13:51+00:00

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Allen G. Goddard, in his capacity as “reader” was looking over some popular English novels which his firm wished to arrange about publishing in America. He left “Two and One” to the last. It was the second edition, the illustrated one which he had not seen yet; the first he had read before. He regarded it from time to time with a peculiar expression.

“Well,” he said to himself, “I suppose I can stand it if the others do. “

And he opened the book.

The drawing was strong work certainly, in a style he did not know. They were striking pictures, vivid, real, carrying out in last detail the descriptions given, and the very spirit of the book, showing it more perfectly than the words. There was the tender happiness of the lovers, the courage, the firmness, the fixed purpose in the young sculptor insisting on her freedom, and the gay pride of the successful artist in her work.

There was beauty and charm in this character, yet the face was always turned away, and there was a haunting suggestion of familiarity in the figure. The other girl was beautiful, and docile in expression; well-dressed and graceful; yet somehow unattractive, even at her best, as nurse; and the man was extremely well drawn, both in his happy ardor as a lover, and his grinding misery when rejected. He was very good-looking; and here too was this strong sense of resemblance.

“Why he looks like me!” suddenly cried the reader – springing to his feet. “Confound his impudence!” he cried. “How in thunder!” Then he looked at the picture again, more carefully, a growing suspicion in his face; and turned hurriedly to the title page, – seeing a name unknown to him.

This subtle, powerful convincing work; this man who undeniably suggested him; this girl whose eyes he could not see; he turned from one to another and hurried to the back of the book.

“The fire was out – she was alone.” And there, in the remorseless light of a big lamp before her fireless hearth, the crumpled newspaper beside her, and all hope gone from a limp, crouching little figure, sat – why, he would know her among a thousand – even if her face was buried in her hands, and sunk on the arm of the chair – it was Rosamond!

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