There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. “I am excited to announce the premiere of my Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, to be played tonight featuring solos by our concertmaster, Lucy Albert. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. We’re handfuls. “But how is it all going to end?” said Mr.
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