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The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crash against the wall. The chapel was crowded to excess. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. It's certain. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. At once. "All's over," muttered Jonathan.
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