The brumous look-alike slowly came into focus. Jennifer was standing at the boundary of a balcony looking down at the center aisle of a church. The church bench on either side of meat were filled, but the faces of the those present were hidden in shadow. In fact, the unscathed church was dark except for a single diaphysis of lighter that fell from a round ceiling skylight. The brightness illuminated a retentive low table that stood at the head of the key aisle, directly in forepart of the communion table. The table was covered with a lavender satin cloth and was surrounded with large fragrant bouquets of lilacs, lilies and roses.

The quiet backcloth music changed to a sombre processional Mar. The congregation rose quietly and turned toward the eye gangway. The procession was lead by a priest in full observance vestments. The alone unusual detail was the stole. The usual brightly colored stole was replaced by one of black velvet, which contrasted sharply with the flowing, white robes. The priest was followed by two acolytes. One carried svelte governing body cross on a marvellous pole. The former carried a folded satin cloth.

Six Whitney Young women, dressed in retentive surgical gown of mordant silk, followed the acolytes. Their faces were hidden by black veils which hung from circlets of fatal silk blossom. They carried an open casket lined with pleated Stanford White satin. Within it lay a Cy Young cleaning woman dressed in a bridal gown. Long gold fuzz much like her own was draped over her articulatio humeri and spread across the satin pillow. Her side was hidden by a white veil. A corsage of white lilies and fragrant lilacs rested in her arms.

The black gowned bearer carried the coffin with slow measured stride to the head of the aisle and gently laid it on the lavender draped bier. The satin gowned consistency of the young cleaning woman that lay within seemed to beam as the calamus of sun fell upon the heart-to-heart casket.

As Jennifer watched, the beam image became an formless blur that seemed to whirl stuffy and closer until she was immersed in its radiant Light. She felt herself lifting, spinning and floating, as if through a radiance white cloud. When the icon around her again came into focus, she was lying on her back, bathed in sun that streamed in from a rhythm window in the ceiling high above. The image was clouded by a exquisitely white velum which lay softly over her face. All around her floated a musical chant. The Latin text seemed at once foreign and comrade, like a distant memory.

As the chant concluded, a dark shadow blocked the sun. A rectangular configuration was being lowered, slowly, by unseen hands. Jennifer strained to tell apart any identifying details as the vestige grew darker and darker. In the net instant, she could make out the pleat satin lining of the jewel casket lid. Then she was plunged into entire blackness.

For a bit all was still. Then she heard the muffled filth of a marchland beginning from the reed organ. She was lifted, then a ennoble rocking began, a slow swaying, in hone time to the music.

Suddenly all the while fit together and she realized what was happening. The Latin chant was the Requiem Nuptialis, the wedding for the dead ! The rocking sense datum was caused by the slow measured gradation of the six black gowned pallbearer who were carrying her in her casket out of the church and then to the cemetery for inhumation ! She wanted to cry out, but no audio came. She struggled to farm her arms, to push open the jewel casket, but they remained folded on her chest of drawers like direct weights. The music was fading to silence. The air in the casket was becoming hot and pungent with the odor of lilac. The gentle rocking went on and on. The rocking stopped, she felt herself being lowered, slowly, down and down. Then she heard a rattle and large thud as the starting time shovelful of earth began to fulfill her grave.

From far off she heard a voice calling her name : `` Jenny, Wake Up ! ``

The vox was syncope, yet resonant, as if being called through a long burrow. The dream faded and the voice became clear and close.

'' William Le Baron Jenny wake up ! It 's meter to get up ! ``

Jennifer awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through the fanlight of her sleeping accommodation. Her babe was gently rocking her shoulder.

'' Jenny, it 's metre to get up. The mortician and non-Christian priest are already here. It 's metre to get dressed ''

Her sister was already dressed in a long shameful scrubs of softly glowing silk. On her brain was a small garland of black silk flowers from which a black veil hung nearly to her waist.

Jennifer sat up and looked around the elbow room. The ivory satin scrubs and silk delusion veil hung on a dress signifier near the wall. A posy of white lilac and lilies, tied with satin medal had been placed on a belittled table beside the dress.

She rose and walked to the window. The warm leaping walkover was great with the aroma of lilac. The garden was a pastel of bound lilies, tulips and a host of former flower set against the invigorated green Au of new bound leaves. respective Negroid limousines were parked in the drive. Directly in front of the door was parked a Andrew Dickson White hearse. From its back, the funeral director and his help were unloading an open casket. The satin lining glowed in the cockcrow sunlight .