There were many flowers, so that the hearse made a blot of relief, beautiful enough.
There were many people, too, and I turned round several times.

Always I saw old Eudo, in his black cowl, hopping along in the mud, hunchbacked as a crow.

Marie was walking among some women in the second half of the file, whose frail and streaming roof the hearse drew along irregularly with jerks and halts.

Her gait was jaded; she was thinking only of our sorrow! All things darkened again to my eyes in the ugliness of the evening.
The cemetery is full of mud under the muslin of fallen rain, and the footfalls make a sticky sound in it.

There are a few trees, naked and paralyzed.