"I'm not going to live through the year." Amy repeated her startling statement with a deliberation and an emphasis which carried the conviction that at least she meant what she said. Peggy burst into excited expostulation.
"Amy, you're crazy. I never heard anything so absurd. You have lost a little flesh, to be sure, but no more than is becoming. I thought you would be delighted. What makes you think that anything ails you?"
"I didn't say that anything ailed me, did I?"
"If you don't expect to live, it stands to reason that you must be sick."
Amy shook her head. "I might be killed in an accident. Or I might be taken sick suddenly, and not live more than two or three days."
Peggy's suspicions were aroused. "Amy Lassell, you've been doing something silly."
"You can laugh if you like. I dare say it seems funny to you." Amy spoke with an injured air which Peggy failed to notice, so busy was she in following the clue which her quick wit had suggested.
"I know," she burst out. "It's a fortune teller."
Amy made no effort at evasion. On the whole it seemed a relief to be found out.
"Yes, it was a fortune teller. But if she'd been a faker she never would have told me that, you know yourself. They tell you how rich you're going to be, and whether you're going to be married once or twice, and things of that sort. But the ones who are just tricksters, don't ever tell people they are going to die right away."