That jewel box held the poverty of her life and the wealth of her heart.
* * * * * * It poured with rain on the day of the funeral.

All the morning groups of people succeeded each other in the big cavern of our room, a going and coming of sighs.

My aunt was laid in her coffin towards two o'clock, and it was carried then into the passage, where visitors' feet had brought dirt and puddles.

A belated wreath was awaited, and then the umbrellas opened, and under their black undulation the procession moved off.
When we came out of the church it was not far off four o'clock.

The rain had not stopped and little rivers dashed down from either side of the procession's sluggish flow along the street.