The arching curve of her back was beautiful and strong; she wore no stays.

Suddenly, without knowing, he was scattering a handful of cowslips over her hair and neck, saying: "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, If the Lord won't have you the devil must." The chill flowers fell on her neck.

She looked up at him, with almost pitiful, scared grey eyes, wondering what he was doing.

Flowers fell on her face, and she shut her eyes.
Suddenly, standing there above her, he felt awkward.
"I thought you wanted a funeral," he said, ill at ease.
Clara laughed strangely, and rose, picking the cowslips from her hair.
She took up her hat and pinned it on.

One flower had remained tangled in her hair.