The funeral passed off in a very pleasant manner, nothing
occuring to mar the harmony of the occasion. By a happy thought
of Reginald's mother, the wives walked to the grave twenty
abreast, which rendered that part of the ceremony thoroughly
impartial.
. . . .
That night the twenty wives, with heavy hearts, sought their
twenty respective couches. But no Reginald occupied those twenty
respective couches--Reginald would never more linger all night in
blissful repose in those twenty respective couches--Reginald's
head would never more press the twenty respective pillows of
those twenty respective couches--never, nevermore!
. . . .
In another house, not many leagues from the House of Mourning, a
gray-haired woman was weeping passionately. "He died," she
cried, "he died without sigerfyin', in any respect, where them
mules went to!"