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"Must be a cold-'earted child as can see 'er own mother lyin' dead without so much as a tear." She sniffed. "'Aven't you got that cup o' tea ready yet? I can allus drink a cup o' tea after a layin'-out." Sara had watched the two women drinking their tea with brooding eyes, her small breast heaving with the intensity of her resentment.
"Who do you expect will bid in a second-hand gravestone?" "It ain't second-hand," replied the owner, reprovingly, as he eased himself out of the wagon. "Mis' Gammon, my first wife, is buried there. 'Twas by her request. She made her own layin'-out clothes, picked her bearers and music, and selected the casket. She was a capable woman."
"It's the right place to go to," said Miss Roxy, with decision. "Mis' Pennel said this mornin' that she was just beat out tryin' to submit; and the more she said, 'Thy will be done, the more she didn't seem to feel it." "Them's common feelin's among mourners, Ruey. These 'ere forty years that I've been round nussin', and layin'-out, and tendin' funerals, I've watched people's exercises.
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