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           Gagewasburiedattwoo’clockthatafternoon.Bythentherainhadstopped.Tatteredcloudsstillmovedoverhead,andmostofthemournersarrivedcarryingblackumbrellasprovidedbytheundertaker.

           AtRachel’srequest,thefuneraldirector,whoofficiatedattheshort,nonsectariangravesideservice,readthepassagefromMatthewwhichbegins"SufferthelittlechildrentocomeuntoMe."Louis,standingononesideofthegrave,lookedacrossathisfather-in-law.ForamomentGoldmanlookedbackathim,andthenhedroppedhiseyes.Therewasnofightleftinhimtoday.Thepouchesunderhiseyesnowresembledmailbags,andaroundhisblacksilkskullcap,hairasfineandwhiteastatteredspiderwebsflewrandomlyinthebreeze.Withhisgrayish-blackbeardscragginghischeeks,helookedmorelikeawinothanever.HegaveLouistheimpressionofamanwhodidnotreallyknowwherehewas.Louistriedbutcouldstillfindnopityinhisheartforhim.

           Gage’ssmallwhitecoffin,itslatchpresumablyrepaired,satonapairofchromedrunnersoverthegraveliner.ThevergesofthegravehadbeencarpetedwithAstroturfsoviolentlygreenithurtLouis’seyes.Severalbasketsofflowershadbeensetontopofthisartificialandstrangelygaysurface.Louis’seyeslookedoverthefuneraldirector’sshoulder.Herewasalowhill,coveredwithgraves,familyplots,oneRomanesquemonumentwiththenamePHIPPSengravedonit.JustabovetheslopingroofofPHIPPS,hecouldseeasliverofyellow.

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