"It's too bad!"
he half whispered, his lips forming the words--and his meaning was
that it was too bad that the strong brother had been the one to go.
For this was his last thought before he walked to the coupe and saw
Mary Vertrees standing, all alone, on the other side of the drive.
She had just emerged from a grove of leafless trees that grew on
a slope where the tombs were many; and behind her rose a multitude
of the barbaric and classic shapes we so strangely strew about our
graveyards: urn-crowned columns and stone-draped obelisks, shop-
carved angels and shop-carved children poising on pillars and shafts,
all lifting--in unthought pathos--their blind stoniness toward the
sky. Against such a background, Bibbs was not incongruous, with his
figure, in black, so long and slender, and his face so long and thin
and white; nor was the undertaker's coupe out of keeping, with the
shabby driver dozing on the box and the shaggy horses standing
patiently in attitudes without hope and without regret. But for
Mary Vertrees, here was a grotesque setting--she was a vivid, living
creature of a beautiful world. And a graveyard is not the place for
people to look charming.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166