Remedy is None
“In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.’ The voice rose and fell with mechanical regularity, dispersing its words like seeds from the hands of a sower. Rigid as rock, Charlie stood by the window, trying to take the meaning of the words to himself. The others in the room seemed to form a unity with the words of the minister, and one of which Charlie did not feel himself a part. They sat in hypnotic sorrow while the minister gave articulation to their grief, and the old words gave meaning to their misery. Some of the women were crying, but in a restrained, an almost formal way, so that no one’s personal grief obtruded, but their weeping had a choric dignity. The men were very still and stiff in dark clothes, impassive as befitted death’s retainers for a day.
The whole thing seemed curiously irrelevant to Charlie. The etiquette of death was new to him, and he had waited throughout these strange proceedings for som...ething that would enable him to endorse their validity, to accept them as an expression of what he felt.MoreLess
The whole thing seemed curiously irrelevant to Charlie. The etiquette of death was new to him, and he had waited throughout these strange proceedings for som...ething that would enable him to endorse their validity, to accept them as an expression of what he felt.MoreLess
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