Hi and welcome back to Nighty Night, bedtime stories to keep you awake.

I'm your host, Raviak Jadri. I have to admit today's story is

maybe one of my favorites because of the tension that it created in me and trying to figure

out who the real victim is here.

Christopher comes back by E.F. Benson.S. During five years of childless marriage, Nellie Moston had lived in bondage to the fancied

ailments and literary industry of her husband.

For the last three of these, Christopher had been engaged on a life and a definitive addition

of the lyrics of the most obscure of Elizabethan poets,

the little known and less read, France's holder.

And morning after morning it had been Nellie's occupation to sit with her husband in his study,

looking up references, copying out his notes, receiving his dictation, and rising

at punctual intervals to fetch him his tonic, or his aspirin, or his glass of hot water.

In the afternoon she took a drive with him and was almost equally busy with putting

one window of the car an inch up or the other two inches down with telling the chauffeur

not to drive so fast or a shade faster,

with adjusting the collar of Christopher's coat or with shifting his hot water bottle.

Sometimes if it was not too warm or too cold, he got out to walk for half a mile, and then she carried

his woolen muffler so that he could assume it again at a moment's notice if the breeze grew chilly

or the sun went behind clouds.

When he got back into the car he would say,

well, we've had a famous walk today, Petsey.

And then perhaps he would doze a little, with his large head nodding and loeling on that wrinkled neck, which was so like that of a plucked chicken.

...