Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
62
The
graveyard
is
in
the
middle
of
a
group
of
pines
that
bounds
the
Frau
Inspector's
garden
on
that
side,
and
has
not
been
used
within
the
memory
of
living
man.
The
people
here
love
to
make
their
little
burying-grounds
in
the
heart
of
a
wood
if
they
can,
and
they
are
often
a
long
way
away
from
the
church
to
which
they
belong
because,
while
every
hamlet
has
its
burying-ground,
three
or
four
hamlets
have
to
share
a
church;
and
indeed
the
need
for
churches
is
not
so
urgent
as
that
for
graves,
seeing
that,
though
we
may
not
all
go
to
church,
we
all
of
us
die
and
must
be
buried.
Some
of
these
little
cemeteries
are
not
even
anywhere
near
a
village,
and
you
come
upon
them
unexpectedly
in
your
drives
through
the
woods--
bits
of
fenced-in
forest,
the
old
gates
dropping
off
their
hinges,
the
paths
green
from
long
disuse,
the
unchecked
trees
casting
black,
impenetrable
shadows
across
the
poor,
meek,
pathetic
graves.
I
try
sometimes,
pushing
aside
the
weeds,
to
decipher
the
legend
on
the
almost
speechless
headstones;
but
the
voice
has
been
choked
out
of
them
by
years
of
wind,
and
frost,
and
snow,
and
a
few
stray
letters
are
all
that
they
can
utter--a
last
stammering
protest
against
oblivion.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
