"Come Dance with Me in Ireland"
from The Lottery and Other Stories, by Shirley Jackson
Um... I'm not sure what I was supposed to get out of this, to tell the truth. I can't honestly blame Mrs. Archer for steering the man away from the "good" chair... thinking of giving him leftover figs that she had no plans to use... or giving him a lesser sherry (assuming she even had something nicer to offer). I wouldn't want some random, not-very-clean, possibly homeless, possibly drunk stranger coming into my home, either. Shame on me, I guess.
