"Shop fach very neat he might
have if he was like me and you."
"Throwing away money he did," Annie said. "I helped him three years ago
when he was sacked. Did I not pay for him to sleep one month in
lodgings?"
"I got his frock coat cleaned at cost price," Jane fach remembered, "and
sewed silk on her fronts. I lent him lendings. Where are my lendings?"
"A squanderer you were," Simon rebuked the body. "Tidy sums you spent
in pubs. Booze got you the sack after twenty years in the same shop.
Disgraced was I to have such a brother as you, Shacob. Where was your
religion, man? But he has to be buried, little sisters, or babbling
there'll be. Cheap funeral will suit in Fulham cematary. Reasonable your
share is more than mine, because the Big Man has trusted me with sons."
"No sense is in you," Annie shouted. "Not one coin did he repay me. The
coins he owed me are my share."
"As an infidel you are," said Simon. "Ach y fy, cheating the grave of
custom."
"Leaving am I." Jane fach rose. "Late is the day."
"Woe is me," Simon wailed. "Like the old Welsh of Cardigan is your
cunning. Come you this night here to listen to funeral estimates.
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