There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. "What are those odd-looking things on the roofs?" she asked of Ah Cum. ’ You used to declare that you hated the name. She chuckled. He kissed her cheek. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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