The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. You know the sort of thing. "These writer chaps are queer birds. He’s got flowers. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense. ” As the long, solitary days wore on, Ann Veronica found a number of definite attitudes and conclusions in her mind.
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