He was buried in January, in an icy fog, at eight in the morning—about the time when they shoot those condemned to death. There were quite a few people there—from society, from his former world—who followed the hearse while talking of business. The hearse of a poor man, badly chipped, rattled over the gleaming cobblestones. Imagine that long journey to the cemetery at eig (...)
Misery Will Never End
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