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Updated: May 13, 2025
His sole living relative, an aunt who inhabited one of a row of ginger-brick Virginia-creeper-clad almshouses "over aginst 'Ighgyte Cimitery," sniffled a little when he called to say good-bye, bringing in a parting present of a half-pound of Liphook's Luscious Tea and a screw of snuff. "I shan't never see you no more, William." "Ow yes, you will, mother! Don't be such a silly!"
'Tis an ixpriss company ye are workin' fer, an' not a cimitery. T' look at ye wan w'u'd think ye was nawthin' but a funeral!" "Sure I am," said Tommy. "'Tis as ye have said it, Flannery; I'm th' funeral." Flannery stuck out his under jaw, and his eyes blazed. For nothing at all he would have let Timmy have a fist in the side of the head, but what was the use?
But your education has been neglected, my dear." "Will ye be willin' ter tyke the service at the cimitery, sir?" said the undertaker, and John answered that he would. The grave was on the paupers' side, and when the undertaker, with his man, had lowered the coffin to its place, he said, "They've gimme abart three more funerals this morning, so I'll leave ye now, sir, to finish 'er off."
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