I guess things are about as usual in Ithaca--minus the fellows who are off to war. I suppose you attend plays at Willard Straight. Have you seen some good ones? I hope so. And your French classes--how is teaching these days?
Jean is okay--Aunt and Uncle okay, though very depressed. Lena's death will take a hell of a lot out of them.
Keep well ...
Orville felt his aunt's hand on his own; confused he glanced around.
Her face expressed a kind of final somberness.
The priest's face was professionally blank.
Orville did not want to see Victor's face, or Jeannette's.
In the cemetery he was impressed once more by life's clever deceptions: he had never really known Lena-the-Maquise; he did not know Therèse or Victor, he did not know Jeannette: in a nearby plot lay someone else he had never known--Robert St. Denis.
Orville's thoughts reached out to what was taking place.
They were lowering Lena's coffin--ropes going down: a couple of grave men were watching the pair who were doing the job; one of the watchers lit a cigarette as the ropes jerked and the coffin hesitated.