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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
89
The
entrance
was
full
of
three
women--the
entrances
here
are
narrow,
and
the
women
wide--and
they
all
looked
more
cheerful
than
seemed
reasonable.
They
stood
aside
to
let
me
pass,
and
when
I
opened
the
door
I
found
the
room
equally
full
of
women,
looking
equally
happy,
and
talking
eagerly.
"Why,
what
is
happening?"
I
asked
the
nearest
one.
"Is
there
a
party?"
She
turned
round,
grinning
broadly
in
obvious
delight.
"The
old
lady
died
in
her
sleep,"
she
said,
"and
was
found
this
morning
dead
in
her
bed.
I
was
in
here
only
yesterday,
and
she
said--"
I
turned
abruptly
and
went
out
again.
All
those
gloating
women,
hovering
round
the
poor
body
that
was
clothed
on
a
sudden
by
death
with
a
wonderful
dignity
and
nobleness,
made
me
ashamed
of
being
a
woman.
Not
a
man
was
there,--
clearly
a
superior
race
of
beings.
In
the
entrance
I
met
the
Frau
Inspector
coming
in
to
arrange
matters,
and
she
turned
and
walked
with
me
a
little
way.
"The
old
lady
was
better
off
than
we
thought,"
she
remarked,
"and
has
left
a
very
good
black
silk
dress
to
be
buried
in."
"A
black
silk
dress?"
I
repeated.
"And
everything
to
match
in
goodness--nice
leather
shoes,
good
stockings,
under-things
all
trimmed
with
crochet,
real
whalebone
corsets,
and
a
quite
new
pair
of
white
kid
gloves.
She
must
have
saved
for
a
long
time
to
have
it
all
so
nice."
"But,"
I
said,
"I
don't
understand.
I
have
never
had
anything
to
do
yet
with
death,
and
have
not
thought
of
these
things.
Are
not
people,
then,
just
buried
in
a
shroud?"
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