"As to danger, that is imminent enough," I returned, fretfully.
"On the contrary, I am satisfied that there is none. One of your symptoms makes this perfectly clear."
"Indeed! What symptom?" I eagerly asked.
"Your terrible fears of a cancer are an almost certain sign that you will never have one. The evil we most fear, rarely, if ever, falls upon us."
"That is a very strange way to talk," I replied.
"But a true way, nevertheless," said my husband.
"I can see no reason in it. Why should we be troubled to death about a thing that is never going to happen?"
"The trouble is bad enough, without the reality, I suppose. We are all doomed to have a certain amount of anxiety and trouble here, whether real or imaginary. Some have the reality, and others the imagination. Either is bad enough; I don't know which is worse."
"I shall certainly be content to have the imaginary part," I replied.
"That part you certainly have, and your full share of it. I believe you have, at some period or other, suffered every ill that flesh is heir to. As for me, I would rather have a good hearty fit of sickness, a broken leg or arm, or even a cancer, and be done with it, than become a living Pandora's box, even in imagination."