Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, Mr. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese.
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