Chapter XXVII
DECENT BURIAL
To-morrow? ’Tis not ours to know
That we again shall see the flowers.
To-morrow is the gods’—but, oh!
To day is ours.
—C.E. Merrill, Jr.
Claiborne called Oscar through the soft dusk of the April evening. The phalanx of stars marched augustly across the heavens.
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