Claude jumped out of his chair and faced me. “We can get an annulment,”
he said. “No one has the right to play with other peoples’ lives like
that.”
He looked so sweet and little-boy-like standing there. I knew suddenly
I didn’t want an annulment. I said, “The younger generation has to
accept its responsibilities sometime.”
Mensor Williams got an eager look in his eyes. I turned to the old man,
said, “Was that seventy percent figure correct?”
“Absolutely correct, my dear,” he said. “We’ve checked every
marriageable female he’s met because he carries my family’s dominant
line. Your combination was the best. Far higher than we’d hoped for.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about our future?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s all cloudy,” he said. “You’re on your own.”
I got that creepy feeling again and looked up at my husband. Little
laugh wrinkles creased at the corners of Claude’s eyes and he smiled.
Then another thought struck me. If we were on our own, that meant we
were shaping our own future. It wasn’t fixed. And no nosey prescient
could come prying in on us, either. A woman kind of likes that idea.
Especially on her wedding night.
Transcriber’s Note:
This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, January 1956 (Vol. 4,
No. 6). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.
Obvious errors in punctuation have been silently corrected in this
version, while spelling and hyphenation have been kept as is.