I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. “No!” she exclaimed.
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