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"In the afternoon I went up to the City on a few little funeral urrants, a crape veil for Jennie's mother an' like that, you know Jennie died first. We wasn't goin' to dress her till the next mornin' her mother wanted we should leave her till then in her little pink sacque she'd wore, an' the soft lavender cloth they use now spread over her careless.
An' I was thinkin' how like a dunce we are to live a life made up mostly of urrants an' feetache followin'. Yet, after all, the right sort o' urrants an' like that is life an', if they do ache, 'tain't like your feet was your soul. Well, an' just before the car come, up arrove the girl.
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