An' there's
nothink like the parishes for buryin' folk quick, an' I dessay the
coffin's ordered by this time, an' I dessay the gent gev you that
money just to make you comforble like, seein' as he killed your
darter." That's what Mrs. Mix says to me. So the parish comed an'
brought a coffin an' tookt her, pore dear. And I've cried myself
stupid-like, bein' her pore mother as 'es lost her on'y darter--an'
I was just a-tryin' to make myself comfable when this 'ere young toff
as seems so werry drunk comes a-rappin' at my door fit to rap the
'ouse down.'
'Has she been buried at all? How can a spiritual body be buried?'
'"Buried at all?" What do you mean by insinivatin' to the pore gal's
conflicted mother as she p'raps ain't buried at all? You're a-makin'
me cry ag'in. She lays comfable enough underneath a lot of other
coffins, in the pauper part of the New North Cimingtary.'
'Underneath a lot of others; how can that be?'
'What! ain't you toffs never seed a pauper finneral? Now that's a
pity; and sich nice toffs as they are, a-settin' theirselves up to
look arter the darters o' pore folks.
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