They seemed to think Miss Quincey had justified her existence. Perhaps she had.
And the woman took the roses that she wore in her belt and laid them on the breast of the grave. She stood for a minute studying the effect with a shamefaced look, as if she had mocked the dead woman with flowers flung from her wedding-wreath of youth and joy.
Then she turned to the man; the closing bell tolled, and they passed through the iron gates into the ways of the living.