Frank stayed another day. We picked a big bunch of flowers behind the house—not those ghastly-smelling hothouse things whose aroma I always associate with death and organ-music but real flowers, the kind Jo liked best—and stuck them in a couple of coffee cans I found in the back pantry. We went out to Fairlawn and put them on the new grave. Then we just sat there for awhile under the beating sun.
Source: Bag of Bones ▫𓂃
(echo:: @ ⌗)