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 the nasty things would have drove me out of my wits. And now there they lay like so many dead things. Well, they was lively enough on the Monday, and now here’s Thursday, is it, or no, Friday. Only to come near the door and you’d hear them pattering up against it, and once you opened it, dash at you, they would, as if they’d eat you. I couldn’t help thinking to myself, ‘If you was bats, where should we be this night?’ Nor you can’t cresh ’em, not like a usual kind of a fly. Well, there’s something to be thankful for, if we could but learn by it. And then this tomb, too,’ she said, hastening on to her second point to elude any chance of interruption, ‘of them two poor young lads. I say poor, and yet when I recollect myself, I was at tea with Mrs. Simpkins, the sexton’s wife, before you come, Doctor and Miss Mary, and that’s a family has been in the place, what? I daresay a hundred years in that very house, and could put their hand on any tomb or yet grave in all the yard and give you name and age. And his account of that young man, Mr. Simpkins’s I mean to say—well!’ She compressed her lips and nodded several times. ‘Tell us, Mrs. Maple,’ said Mary. ‘Go on,’ said Uncle Oldys. ‘What