"
"Certainly it will save coming again. But business is business, even in
the presence of the dead."
"It's eighteen pounds. That's twelve weeks at one-ten."
"Well, if you insist, insist you do. Prefer I would to have my brother
Jacob back."
Simon put the coat over his arm and counted the money, and after he had
drunk a little beer and eaten of bread and cheese, he made deals with a
gravedigger and an undertaker, and the cost for burying Jacob was eight
pounds.
That night he was with his sisters, saying to them: "Twelve soferens
will put him in the earth. Four soferens per each."
"None can I afford," Jane fach vowed. "Not paid my pew rent in Capel
Charing Cross have I."
"Easier for me to fly than bring the cash," said Annie. "Larger is your
screw than me."
Simon smote the ground with his umbrella and stayed further words. "Give
the soferens, bullocks of Hell fire."
Annie and Jane fach were distressed. The first said: "The flesh of the
swine shall smell before I do." The second said: "Hard you are on a
bent-back wench."
Notwithstanding their murmurs, Simon hurled at them the spite of his
wrath, reviling them foully and filthily; and the women got afraid that
out of his anger would come mischief, and each gave as she was
commanded.
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