She stiffened. Eight men leaned into the cold spring wind, carrying the bronze casket past her. All of them she knew well. None of them looked at her as they passed, carrying their heavy load up the incline into the church.
Kathleen felt a horrible dread. She knew instinctively how this day would go, yet for some unexplainable reason she felt the necessity to see the finish of Scott Buckley.
She brushed a tear away, angry that it might be taken by others as a show of grief. She turned to her mother and cousin.
“Maybe the pain will go away if I do this, stand through this agony of hearing what a wonderful man he was. God! Why did I put up with it?”
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