SlideShare a Scribd company logo
1 of 27
William Faulkner
Prepared by : Leah Jane Aniasco
William Faulkner (1897-1962)
William Faulkner (1897-1962), who came
from an old southern family, grew up in
Oxford, Mississippi. He joined the Canadian,
and later the British, Royal Air Force during
the First World War, studied for a while at the
University of Mississippi, and temporarily
worked for a New York bookstore and a New
Orleans newspaper. Except for some trips to
Europe and Asia, and a few brief stays in
Hollywood as a scriptwriter, he worked on
his novels and short stories on a farm in
Oxford.
Biography
• A Southern writer through and through, William Cuthbert
Falkner (the original spelling of his last name) was born in
the small town of New Albany, Mississippi, on September
25, 1897.
• His parents, Murry Falkner and Maud Butler Faulkner,
named him after his paternal great-grandfather, William
Clark Falkner.
• Throughout his life, William Clark Falkner worked as a
railroad financier, politician, soldier, farmer, businessman,
lawyer and—in his twilight years—best-selling author (The
White Rose of Memphis).
Map of United States of America
The United States of America(USA),
commonly referred to as the United
States (US), or America is a country in
North America. It is made up of 50 states
The United States is the fourth largest
country in the world in area (after Russia,
Canada, and China). The national capital is
Washington
Characters
• Miss Emily Grierson - is a mysterious figure who changes
from a vibrant and hopeful young girl to a cloistered and
secretive old woman.
• Colonel Sartoris - Father of Miss Emily.
• Homer Barron - The only man that loved by Miss Emily.
• Judge Steven - The mayor of Jefferson’s town.
I
WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the
men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the
women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one
save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at
least ten years.
It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been white, decorated with
cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of
the seventies, set on what had once been our most select street. But garages
and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of
that neighborhood; only Miss Emily's house was left, lifting its stubborn and
coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-an
eyesore among eyesores. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the
representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused
cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and
Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, Miss Emily had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation
upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor--he who
fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an
apron-remitted her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into
perpetuity. Not that Miss Emily would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented
an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily's father had loaned money to the town,
which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of
Colonel Sartoris' generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman
could have believed it.
When the next generation, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen,
this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction. On the first of the year they mailed
her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter,
asking her to call at the sheriff's office at her convenience. A week later the mayor
wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note
on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect
that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her,
knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving china-
painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by the old Negro into a
dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and
disuse--a close, dank smell. The Negro led them into the parlor. It was furnished in
heavy, leather-covered furniture. When the Negro opened the blinds of one window,
they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose
sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray. On a
tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of Miss Emily's father.
They rose when she entered--a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain
descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a
tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what
would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated,
like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in
the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of
dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.
She did not ask them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the
spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at
the end of the gold chain.
Her voice was dry and cold. "I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to
me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves."
"But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn't you get a notice from the
sheriff, signed by him?"
"I received a paper, yes," Miss Emily said. "Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff . . . I
have no taxes in Jefferson."
"But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see We must go by the--"
"See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson."
"But, Miss Emily--"
"See Colonel Sartoris." (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) "I have no
taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!" The Negro appeared. "Show these gentlemen out."
II
So SHE vanquished them, horse and foot, just as she had vanquished their fathers thirty
years before about the smell.
That was two years after her father's death and a short time after her sweetheart--the
one we believed would marry her --had deserted her. After her father's death she went
out very little; after her sweetheart went away, people hardly saw her at all. A few of the
ladies had the temerity to call, but were not received, and the only sign of life about the
place was the Negro man--a young man then--going in and out with a market basket.
"Just as if a man--any man--could keep a kitchen properly, "the ladies said; so they were
not surprised when the smell developed. It was another link between the gross, teeming
world and the high and mighty Griersons.
A neighbor, a woman, complained to the mayor, Judge Stevens, eighty years old.
"But what will you have me do about it, madam?" he said.
"Why, send her word to stop it," the woman said. "Isn't there a law? "
"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Judge Stevens said. "It's probably just a snake or a rat
that nigger of hers killed in the yard. I'll speak to him about it."
The next day he received two more complaints, one from a man who came in diffident
deprecation. "We really must do something about it, Judge. I'd be the last one in the
world to bother Miss Emily, but we've got to do something." That night the Board of
Aldermen met--three graybeards and one younger man, a member of the rising
generation.
"It's simple enough," he said. "Send her word to have her place cleaned up. Give her a
certain time to do it in, and if she don't. .."
"Dammit, sir," Judge Stevens said, "will you accuse a lady to her face of smelling bad?“
So the next night, after midnight, four men crossed Miss Emily's lawn and slunk about
the house like burglars, sniffing along the base of the brickwork and at the cellar
openings while one of them performed a regular sowing motion with his hand out of a
sack slung from his shoulder. They broke open the cellar door and sprinkled lime there,
and in all the outbuildings. As they recrossed the lawn, a window that had been dark
was lighted and Miss Emily sat in it, the light behind her, and her upright torso
motionless as that of an idol. They crept quietly across the lawn and into the shadow of
the locusts that lined the street. After a week or two the smell went away.
That was when people had begun to feel really sorry for her. People in our
town, remembering how old lady Wyatt, her great-aunt, had gone completely
crazy at last, believed that the Griersons held themselves a little too high for
what they really were. None of the young men were quite good enough for
Miss Emily and such. We had long thought of them as a tableau, Miss Emily a
slender figure in white in the background, her father a spraddled silhouette in
the foreground, his back to her and clutching a horsewhip, the two of them
framed by the back-flung front door. So when she got to be thirty and was still
single, we were not pleased exactly, but vindicated; even with insanity in the
family she wouldn't have turned down all of her chances if they had really
materialized.
When her father died, it got about that the house was all that was left to her;
and in a way, people were glad. At last they could pity Miss Emily. Being left
alone, and a pauper, she had become humanized. Now she too would know the
old thrill and the old despair of a penny more or less.
The day after his death all the ladies prepared to call at the house and
offer condolence and aid, as is our custom Miss Emily met them at the
door, dressed as usual and with no trace of grief on her face. She told
them that her father was not dead. She did that for three days, with
the ministers calling on her, and the doctors, trying to persuade her to
let them dispose of the body. Just as they were about to resort to law
and force, she broke down, and they buried her father quickly.
We did not say she was crazy then. We believed she had to do that.
We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and
we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which
had robbed her, as people will.
III
SHE WAS SICK for a long time. When we saw her again, her hair was cut
short, making her look like a girl, with a vague resemblance to those angels
in colored church windows--sort of tragic and serene.
The town had just let the contracts for paving the sidewalks, and in the
summer after her father's death they began the work. The construction
company came with niggers and mules and machinery, and a foreman
named Homer Barron, a Yankee--a big, dark, ready man, with a big voice and
eyes lighter than his face. The little boys would follow in groups to hear him
cuss the niggers, and the niggers singing in time to the rise and fall of picks.
Pretty soon he knew everybody in town. Whenever you heard a lot of
laughing anywhere about the square, Homer Barron would be in the center
of the group. Presently we began to see him and Miss Emily on Sunday
afternoons driving in the yellow-wheeled buggy and the matched team of
bays from the livery stable.
At first we were glad that Miss Emily would have an interest, because the
ladies all said, "Of course a Grierson would not think seriously of a
Northerner, a day laborer." But there were still others, older people, who
said that even grief could not cause a real lady to forget noblesse oblige- -
without calling it noblesse oblige. They just said, "Poor Emily. Her kinsfolk
should come to her." She had some kin in Alabama; but years ago her father
had fallen out with them over the estate of old lady Wyatt, the crazy woman,
and there was no communication between the two families. They had not
even been represented at the funeral.
And as soon as the old people said, "Poor Emily," the whispering began. "Do
you suppose it's really so?" they said to one another. "Of course it is. What
else could . . ." This behind their hands; rustling of craned silk and satin
behind jalousies closed upon the sun of Sunday afternoon as the thin, swift
clop-clop-clop of the matched team passed: "Poor Emily."
She carried her head high enough--even when we believed that she was fallen. It
was as if she demanded more than ever the recognition of her dignity as the last
Grierson; as if it had wanted that touch of earthiness to reaffirm her
imperviousness. Like when she bought the rat poison, the arsenic. That was over
a year after they had begun to say "Poor Emily," and while the two female
cousins were visiting her.
"I want some poison," she said to the druggist. She was over thirty then, still a
slight woman, though thinner than usual, with cold, haughty black eyes in a face
the flesh of which was strained across the temples and about the eyesockets as
you imagine a lighthouse-keeper's face ought to look. "I want some poison," she
said.
"Yes, Miss Emily. What kind? For rats and such? I'd recom--"
"I want the best you have. I don't care what kind."
The druggist named several. "They'll kill anything up to an elephant. But what
you want is--"
"Arsenic," Miss Emily said. "Is that a good one?"
"Is . . . arsenic? Yes, ma'am. But what you want--"
"I want arsenic."
The druggist looked down at her. She looked back at him, erect, her
face like a strained flag. "Why, of course," the druggist said. "If that's
what you want. But the law requires you to tell what you are going to
use it for.“
Miss Emily just stared at him, her head tilted back in order to look
him eye for eye, until he looked away and went and got the arsenic
and wrapped it up. The Negro delivery boy brought her the package;
the druggist didn't come back. When she opened the package at
home there was written on the box, under the skull and bones: "For
rats."
IV
So THE NEXT day we all said, "She will kill herself"; and we said it would be the
best thing. When she had first begun to be seen with Homer Barron, we had said,
"She will marry him." Then we said, "She will persuade him yet," because Homer
himself had remarked--he liked men, and it was known that he drank with the
younger men in the Elks' Club--that he was not a marrying man. Later we said,
"Poor Emily" behind the jalousies as they passed on Sunday afternoon in the
glittering buggy, Miss Emily with her head high and Homer Barron with his hat
cocked and a cigar in his teeth, reins and whip in a yellow glove.
Then some of the ladies began to say that it was a disgrace to the town and a bad
example to the young people. The men did not want to interfere, but at last the
ladies forced the Baptist minister--Miss Emily's people were Episcopal-- to call
upon her. He would never divulge what happened during that interview, but he
refused to go back again. The next Sunday they again drove about the streets, and
the following day the minister's wife wrote to Miss Emily's relations in Alabama.
So she had blood-kin under her roof again and we sat back to watch
developments. At first nothing happened. Then we were sure that they were
to be married. We learned that Miss Emily had been to the jeweler's and
ordered a man's toilet set in silver, with the letters H. B. on each piece. Two
days later we learned that she had bought a complete outfit of men's
clothing, including a nightshirt, and we said, "They are married." We were
really glad. We were glad because the two female cousins were even more
Grierson than Miss Emily had ever been.
So we were not surprised when Homer Barron--the streets had been
finished some time since--was gone. We were a little disappointed that there
was not a public blowing-off, but we believed that he had gone on to prepare
for Miss Emily's coming, or to give her a chance to get rid of the cousins. (By
that time it was a cabal, and we were all Miss Emily's allies to help
circumvent the cousins.) Sure enough, after another week they departed.
And, as we had expected all along, within three days Homer Barron was back
in town. A neighbor saw the Negro man admit him at the kitchen door at
dusk one evening.
And that was the last we saw of Homer Barron. And of Miss Emily for some time. The
Negro man went in and out with the market basket, but the front door remained closed.
Now and then we would see her at a window for a moment, as the men did that night
when they sprinkled the lime, but for almost six months she did not appear on the
streets. Then we knew that this was to be expected too; as if that quality of her father
which had thwarted her woman's life so many times had been too virulent and too
furious to die.
When we next saw Miss Emily, she had grown fat and her hair was turning gray. During
the next few years it grew grayer and grayer until it attained an even pepper-and-salt
iron-gray, when it ceased turning. Up to the day of her death at seventy-four it was still
that vigorous iron-gray, like the hair of an active man.
From that time on her front door remained closed, save for a period of six or seven years,
when she was about forty, during which she gave lessons in china-painting. She fitted up
a studio in one of the downstairs rooms, where the daughters and granddaughters of
Colonel Sartoris' contemporaries were sent to her with the same regularity and in the
same spirit that they were sent to church on Sundays with a twenty-five-cent piece for
the collection plate. Meanwhile her taxes had been remitted.
Then the newer generation became the backbone and the spirit of the town,
and the painting pupils grew up and fell away and did not send their
children to her with boxes of color and tedious brushes and pictures cut
from the ladies' magazines. The front door closed upon the last one and
remained closed for good. When the town got free postal delivery, Miss
Emily alone refused to let them fasten the metal numbers above her door
and attach a mailbox to it. She would not listen to them.
Daily, monthly, yearly we watched the Negro grow grayer and more
stooped, going in and out with the market basket. Each December we sent
her a tax notice, which would be returned by the post office a week later,
unclaimed. Now and then we would see her in one of the downstairs
windows--she had evidently shut up the top floor of the house--like the
carven torso of an idol in a niche, looking or not looking at us, we could
never tell which. Thus she passed from generation to generation--dear,
inescapable, impervious, tranquil, and perverse.
And so she died. Fell ill in the house filled with dust and shadows,
with only a doddering Negro man to wait on her. We did not even
know she was sick; we had long since given up trying to get any
information from the Negro
He talked to no one, probably not even to her, for his voice had
grown harsh and rusty, as if from disuse.
She died in one of the downstairs rooms, in a heavy walnut bed
with a curtain, her gray head propped on a pillow yellow and
moldy with age and lack of sunlight.
V
THE NEGRO met the first of the ladies at the front door and let them in, with
their hushed, sibilant voices and their quick, curious glances, and then he
disappeared. He walked right through the house and out the back and was
not seen again.
The two female cousins came at once. They held the funeral on the second
day, with the town coming to look at Miss Emily beneath a mass of bought
flowers, with the crayon face of her father musing profoundly above the
bier and the ladies sibilant and macabre; and the very old men --some in
their brushed Confederate uniforms--on the porch and the lawn, talking of
Miss Emily as if she had been a contemporary of theirs, believing that they
had danced with her and courted her perhaps, confusing time with its
mathematical progression, as the old do, to whom all the past is not a
diminishing road but, instead, a huge meadow which no winter ever quite
touches, divided from them now by the narrow bottle-neck of the most
recent decade of years.
Already we knew that there was one room in that region above stairs
which no one had seen in forty years, and which would have to be forced.
They waited until Miss Emily was decently in the ground before they
opened it.
The violence of breaking down the door seemed to fill this room with
pervading dust. A thin, acrid pall as of the tomb seemed to lie everywhere
upon this room decked and furnished as for a bridal: upon the valance
curtains of faded rose color, upon the rose-shaded lights, upon the
dressing table, upon the delicate array of crystal and the man's toilet
things backed with tarnished silver, silver so tarnished that the
monogram was obscured. Among them lay a collar and tie, as if they had
just been removed, which, lifted, left upon the surface a pale crescent in
the dust. Upon a chair hung the suit, carefully folded; beneath it the two
mute shoes and the discarded socks.
The man himself lay in the bed.
For a long while we just stood there, looking down at the profound and
fleshless grin. The body had apparently once lain in the attitude of an
embrace, but now the long sleep that outlasts love, that conquers even
the grimace of love, had cuckolded him. What was left of him, rotted
beneath what was left of the nightshirt, had become inextricable from
the bed in which he lay; and upon him and upon the pillow beside him
lay that even coating of the patient and biding dust.
Then we noticed that in the second pillow was the indentation of a
head. One of us lifted something from it, and leaning forward, that faint
and invisible dust dry and acrid in the nostrils, we saw a long strand of
iron-gray hair.
A Rose For Emily - William Faulkner
A Rose For Emily - William Faulkner

More Related Content

What's hot

A rose for emily plot
A rose for emily plotA rose for emily plot
A rose for emily plot
Rikki Carr
 
Intro To Mockingbird Slideshow
Intro To  Mockingbird  SlideshowIntro To  Mockingbird  Slideshow
Intro To Mockingbird Slideshow
tranceking
 
Drew's powerpoint, to kill a mockingbird
Drew's powerpoint, to kill a mockingbirdDrew's powerpoint, to kill a mockingbird
Drew's powerpoint, to kill a mockingbird
YHS
 
Young Goodman Brown - in class notes
Young Goodman Brown - in class notesYoung Goodman Brown - in class notes
Young Goodman Brown - in class notes
lramirezcruz
 
Emily Dickinson
Emily DickinsonEmily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
kayongray
 
The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant
The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant
The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant
Mohammed Raiyah
 

What's hot (20)

Student Presentation: To Kill a Mockingbird
Student Presentation: To Kill a MockingbirdStudent Presentation: To Kill a Mockingbird
Student Presentation: To Kill a Mockingbird
 
A rose for emily plot
A rose for emily plotA rose for emily plot
A rose for emily plot
 
Symbolism in "A Rose for Emily"
Symbolism in "A Rose for Emily"Symbolism in "A Rose for Emily"
Symbolism in "A Rose for Emily"
 
William faulkner
William faulknerWilliam faulkner
William faulkner
 
Intro To Mockingbird Slideshow
Intro To  Mockingbird  SlideshowIntro To  Mockingbird  Slideshow
Intro To Mockingbird Slideshow
 
Drew's powerpoint, to kill a mockingbird
Drew's powerpoint, to kill a mockingbirdDrew's powerpoint, to kill a mockingbird
Drew's powerpoint, to kill a mockingbird
 
To Kill A Mockingbird 2014
To Kill A Mockingbird 2014To Kill A Mockingbird 2014
To Kill A Mockingbird 2014
 
Young Goodman Brown - in class notes
Young Goodman Brown - in class notesYoung Goodman Brown - in class notes
Young Goodman Brown - in class notes
 
Emily Dickinson
Emily DickinsonEmily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
 
Huckleberry Finn - Brief presentation about the book and its author
Huckleberry Finn - Brief presentation about the book and its authorHuckleberry Finn - Brief presentation about the book and its author
Huckleberry Finn - Brief presentation about the book and its author
 
The Story of an Hour
The Story of an HourThe Story of an Hour
The Story of an Hour
 
Analysis of a_rose_for_emily
Analysis of a_rose_for_emilyAnalysis of a_rose_for_emily
Analysis of a_rose_for_emily
 
Moby dick
Moby dickMoby dick
Moby dick
 
Tragic hero traits
Tragic hero traitsTragic hero traits
Tragic hero traits
 
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Death of a Salesman by Arthur MillerDeath of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
 
The Ultimate Safari
The Ultimate SafariThe Ultimate Safari
The Ultimate Safari
 
"Look back in anger" - John Osborne
"Look back in anger" - John Osborne"Look back in anger" - John Osborne
"Look back in anger" - John Osborne
 
An Inspector Calls by J.B. Priestley - GCSE Exam Revision - Characters & Setting
An Inspector Calls by J.B. Priestley - GCSE Exam Revision - Characters & SettingAn Inspector Calls by J.B. Priestley - GCSE Exam Revision - Characters & Setting
An Inspector Calls by J.B. Priestley - GCSE Exam Revision - Characters & Setting
 
A Summary + Analyzation of Chapter 11-12 - Purple Hibiscus
A Summary + Analyzation of Chapter 11-12 - Purple HibiscusA Summary + Analyzation of Chapter 11-12 - Purple Hibiscus
A Summary + Analyzation of Chapter 11-12 - Purple Hibiscus
 
The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant
The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant
The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant
 

Similar to A Rose For Emily - William Faulkner

1 A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner I .docx
 1 A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner  I    .docx 1 A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner  I    .docx
1 A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner I .docx
joyjonna282
 
The canterville ghost... oscar wilde
The canterville ghost... oscar wildeThe canterville ghost... oscar wilde
The canterville ghost... oscar wilde
Aksh Deep
 
Skeletal Remains of Jefferson
Skeletal Remains of JeffersonSkeletal Remains of Jefferson
Skeletal Remains of Jefferson
Alexis Smith
 
Wilde canterville-ghost
Wilde canterville-ghostWilde canterville-ghost
Wilde canterville-ghost
505535Mine
 
The Leather Pouch (La Poche en cuir)--Antoine Bourque Louis.docx
The Leather Pouch (La Poche en cuir)--Antoine Bourque Louis.docxThe Leather Pouch (La Poche en cuir)--Antoine Bourque Louis.docx
The Leather Pouch (La Poche en cuir)--Antoine Bourque Louis.docx
oreo10
 

Similar to A Rose For Emily - William Faulkner (19)

1 A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner I .docx
 1 A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner  I    .docx 1 A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner  I    .docx
1 A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner I .docx
 
A Rose For Emily
A Rose For EmilyA Rose For Emily
A Rose For Emily
 
A Rose for Emily.pdf
A Rose for Emily.pdfA Rose for Emily.pdf
A Rose for Emily.pdf
 
English prose.pptx cc
English prose.pptx ccEnglish prose.pptx cc
English prose.pptx cc
 
The canterville ghost
The canterville ghostThe canterville ghost
The canterville ghost
 
Analysis of a_rose_for_emily
Analysis of a_rose_for_emilyAnalysis of a_rose_for_emily
Analysis of a_rose_for_emily
 
The canterville ghost... oscar wilde
The canterville ghost... oscar wildeThe canterville ghost... oscar wilde
The canterville ghost... oscar wilde
 
Canterville ghost
Canterville ghostCanterville ghost
Canterville ghost
 
Ame-Lit.pdf
Ame-Lit.pdfAme-Lit.pdf
Ame-Lit.pdf
 
The Canterville Ghost
The Canterville GhostThe Canterville Ghost
The Canterville Ghost
 
Skeletal Remains of Jefferson
Skeletal Remains of JeffersonSkeletal Remains of Jefferson
Skeletal Remains of Jefferson
 
Wilde canterville-ghost
Wilde canterville-ghostWilde canterville-ghost
Wilde canterville-ghost
 
A Rose For Emily Essays
A Rose For Emily EssaysA Rose For Emily Essays
A Rose For Emily Essays
 
The Leather Pouch (La Poche en cuir)--Antoine Bourque Louis.docx
The Leather Pouch (La Poche en cuir)--Antoine Bourque Louis.docxThe Leather Pouch (La Poche en cuir)--Antoine Bourque Louis.docx
The Leather Pouch (La Poche en cuir)--Antoine Bourque Louis.docx
 
Novel.pdf
Novel.pdfNovel.pdf
Novel.pdf
 
20th_century_american_literature
20th_century_american_literature20th_century_american_literature
20th_century_american_literature
 
The Great Gatsby: Chapter 2
The Great Gatsby: Chapter 2The Great Gatsby: Chapter 2
The Great Gatsby: Chapter 2
 
The Book Review on the Canterville Ghost (Class XI-B).pptx
The Book Review on the Canterville Ghost (Class XI-B).pptxThe Book Review on the Canterville Ghost (Class XI-B).pptx
The Book Review on the Canterville Ghost (Class XI-B).pptx
 
The God Stealer (Unfinished Collection of Short Stories)
The God Stealer (Unfinished Collection of Short Stories)The God Stealer (Unfinished Collection of Short Stories)
The God Stealer (Unfinished Collection of Short Stories)
 

More from Leah Jane Aniasco (9)

The Road Not Taken
The Road Not TakenThe Road Not Taken
The Road Not Taken
 
Odipus The King
Odipus The KingOdipus The King
Odipus The King
 
Ode To A Dead Millionaire
Ode To A Dead MillionaireOde To A Dead Millionaire
Ode To A Dead Millionaire
 
A Doll's House
A Doll's HouseA Doll's House
A Doll's House
 
emotional and cognitive development of infants
emotional and cognitive development of infantsemotional and cognitive development of infants
emotional and cognitive development of infants
 
Evaluating learner progress
Evaluating learner progressEvaluating learner progress
Evaluating learner progress
 
Ulahingan
UlahinganUlahingan
Ulahingan
 
Ulahingan
UlahinganUlahingan
Ulahingan
 
Identifying topics, main ideas, and supporting details
Identifying topics, main ideas, and supporting detailsIdentifying topics, main ideas, and supporting details
Identifying topics, main ideas, and supporting details
 

Recently uploaded

Salient Features of India constitution especially power and functions
Salient Features of India constitution especially power and functionsSalient Features of India constitution especially power and functions
Salient Features of India constitution especially power and functions
KarakKing
 

Recently uploaded (20)

How to Create and Manage Wizard in Odoo 17
How to Create and Manage Wizard in Odoo 17How to Create and Manage Wizard in Odoo 17
How to Create and Manage Wizard in Odoo 17
 
REMIFENTANIL: An Ultra short acting opioid.pptx
REMIFENTANIL: An Ultra short acting opioid.pptxREMIFENTANIL: An Ultra short acting opioid.pptx
REMIFENTANIL: An Ultra short acting opioid.pptx
 
Beyond_Borders_Understanding_Anime_and_Manga_Fandom_A_Comprehensive_Audience_...
Beyond_Borders_Understanding_Anime_and_Manga_Fandom_A_Comprehensive_Audience_...Beyond_Borders_Understanding_Anime_and_Manga_Fandom_A_Comprehensive_Audience_...
Beyond_Borders_Understanding_Anime_and_Manga_Fandom_A_Comprehensive_Audience_...
 
Salient Features of India constitution especially power and functions
Salient Features of India constitution especially power and functionsSalient Features of India constitution especially power and functions
Salient Features of India constitution especially power and functions
 
Google Gemini An AI Revolution in Education.pptx
Google Gemini An AI Revolution in Education.pptxGoogle Gemini An AI Revolution in Education.pptx
Google Gemini An AI Revolution in Education.pptx
 
Application orientated numerical on hev.ppt
Application orientated numerical on hev.pptApplication orientated numerical on hev.ppt
Application orientated numerical on hev.ppt
 
This PowerPoint helps students to consider the concept of infinity.
This PowerPoint helps students to consider the concept of infinity.This PowerPoint helps students to consider the concept of infinity.
This PowerPoint helps students to consider the concept of infinity.
 
2024-NATIONAL-LEARNING-CAMP-AND-OTHER.pptx
2024-NATIONAL-LEARNING-CAMP-AND-OTHER.pptx2024-NATIONAL-LEARNING-CAMP-AND-OTHER.pptx
2024-NATIONAL-LEARNING-CAMP-AND-OTHER.pptx
 
Jamworks pilot and AI at Jisc (20/03/2024)
Jamworks pilot and AI at Jisc (20/03/2024)Jamworks pilot and AI at Jisc (20/03/2024)
Jamworks pilot and AI at Jisc (20/03/2024)
 
NO1 Top Black Magic Specialist In Lahore Black magic In Pakistan Kala Ilam Ex...
NO1 Top Black Magic Specialist In Lahore Black magic In Pakistan Kala Ilam Ex...NO1 Top Black Magic Specialist In Lahore Black magic In Pakistan Kala Ilam Ex...
NO1 Top Black Magic Specialist In Lahore Black magic In Pakistan Kala Ilam Ex...
 
On_Translating_a_Tamil_Poem_by_A_K_Ramanujan.pptx
On_Translating_a_Tamil_Poem_by_A_K_Ramanujan.pptxOn_Translating_a_Tamil_Poem_by_A_K_Ramanujan.pptx
On_Translating_a_Tamil_Poem_by_A_K_Ramanujan.pptx
 
Fostering Friendships - Enhancing Social Bonds in the Classroom
Fostering Friendships - Enhancing Social Bonds  in the ClassroomFostering Friendships - Enhancing Social Bonds  in the Classroom
Fostering Friendships - Enhancing Social Bonds in the Classroom
 
ICT role in 21st century education and it's challenges.
ICT role in 21st century education and it's challenges.ICT role in 21st century education and it's challenges.
ICT role in 21st century education and it's challenges.
 
Graduate Outcomes Presentation Slides - English
Graduate Outcomes Presentation Slides - EnglishGraduate Outcomes Presentation Slides - English
Graduate Outcomes Presentation Slides - English
 
Mehran University Newsletter Vol-X, Issue-I, 2024
Mehran University Newsletter Vol-X, Issue-I, 2024Mehran University Newsletter Vol-X, Issue-I, 2024
Mehran University Newsletter Vol-X, Issue-I, 2024
 
HMCS Max Bernays Pre-Deployment Brief (May 2024).pptx
HMCS Max Bernays Pre-Deployment Brief (May 2024).pptxHMCS Max Bernays Pre-Deployment Brief (May 2024).pptx
HMCS Max Bernays Pre-Deployment Brief (May 2024).pptx
 
Towards a code of practice for AI in AT.pptx
Towards a code of practice for AI in AT.pptxTowards a code of practice for AI in AT.pptx
Towards a code of practice for AI in AT.pptx
 
How to Add New Custom Addons Path in Odoo 17
How to Add New Custom Addons Path in Odoo 17How to Add New Custom Addons Path in Odoo 17
How to Add New Custom Addons Path in Odoo 17
 
How to Manage Global Discount in Odoo 17 POS
How to Manage Global Discount in Odoo 17 POSHow to Manage Global Discount in Odoo 17 POS
How to Manage Global Discount in Odoo 17 POS
 
ICT Role in 21st Century Education & its Challenges.pptx
ICT Role in 21st Century Education & its Challenges.pptxICT Role in 21st Century Education & its Challenges.pptx
ICT Role in 21st Century Education & its Challenges.pptx
 

A Rose For Emily - William Faulkner

  • 1. William Faulkner Prepared by : Leah Jane Aniasco
  • 2. William Faulkner (1897-1962) William Faulkner (1897-1962), who came from an old southern family, grew up in Oxford, Mississippi. He joined the Canadian, and later the British, Royal Air Force during the First World War, studied for a while at the University of Mississippi, and temporarily worked for a New York bookstore and a New Orleans newspaper. Except for some trips to Europe and Asia, and a few brief stays in Hollywood as a scriptwriter, he worked on his novels and short stories on a farm in Oxford. Biography
  • 3. • A Southern writer through and through, William Cuthbert Falkner (the original spelling of his last name) was born in the small town of New Albany, Mississippi, on September 25, 1897. • His parents, Murry Falkner and Maud Butler Faulkner, named him after his paternal great-grandfather, William Clark Falkner. • Throughout his life, William Clark Falkner worked as a railroad financier, politician, soldier, farmer, businessman, lawyer and—in his twilight years—best-selling author (The White Rose of Memphis).
  • 4. Map of United States of America The United States of America(USA), commonly referred to as the United States (US), or America is a country in North America. It is made up of 50 states The United States is the fourth largest country in the world in area (after Russia, Canada, and China). The national capital is Washington
  • 5. Characters • Miss Emily Grierson - is a mysterious figure who changes from a vibrant and hopeful young girl to a cloistered and secretive old woman. • Colonel Sartoris - Father of Miss Emily. • Homer Barron - The only man that loved by Miss Emily. • Judge Steven - The mayor of Jefferson’s town.
  • 6. I WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years. It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been our most select street. But garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of that neighborhood; only Miss Emily's house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-an eyesore among eyesores. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
  • 7. Alive, Miss Emily had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor--he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-remitted her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that Miss Emily would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily's father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris' generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it. When the next generation, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff's office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
  • 8. They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her, knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving china- painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by the old Negro into a dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse--a close, dank smell. The Negro led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When the Negro opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray. On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of Miss Emily's father. They rose when she entered--a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.
  • 9. She did not ask them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the end of the gold chain. Her voice was dry and cold. "I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves." "But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn't you get a notice from the sheriff, signed by him?" "I received a paper, yes," Miss Emily said. "Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff . . . I have no taxes in Jefferson." "But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see We must go by the--" "See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson." "But, Miss Emily--" "See Colonel Sartoris." (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) "I have no taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!" The Negro appeared. "Show these gentlemen out."
  • 10. II So SHE vanquished them, horse and foot, just as she had vanquished their fathers thirty years before about the smell. That was two years after her father's death and a short time after her sweetheart--the one we believed would marry her --had deserted her. After her father's death she went out very little; after her sweetheart went away, people hardly saw her at all. A few of the ladies had the temerity to call, but were not received, and the only sign of life about the place was the Negro man--a young man then--going in and out with a market basket. "Just as if a man--any man--could keep a kitchen properly, "the ladies said; so they were not surprised when the smell developed. It was another link between the gross, teeming world and the high and mighty Griersons. A neighbor, a woman, complained to the mayor, Judge Stevens, eighty years old. "But what will you have me do about it, madam?" he said. "Why, send her word to stop it," the woman said. "Isn't there a law? " "I'm sure that won't be necessary," Judge Stevens said. "It's probably just a snake or a rat that nigger of hers killed in the yard. I'll speak to him about it."
  • 11. The next day he received two more complaints, one from a man who came in diffident deprecation. "We really must do something about it, Judge. I'd be the last one in the world to bother Miss Emily, but we've got to do something." That night the Board of Aldermen met--three graybeards and one younger man, a member of the rising generation. "It's simple enough," he said. "Send her word to have her place cleaned up. Give her a certain time to do it in, and if she don't. .." "Dammit, sir," Judge Stevens said, "will you accuse a lady to her face of smelling bad?“ So the next night, after midnight, four men crossed Miss Emily's lawn and slunk about the house like burglars, sniffing along the base of the brickwork and at the cellar openings while one of them performed a regular sowing motion with his hand out of a sack slung from his shoulder. They broke open the cellar door and sprinkled lime there, and in all the outbuildings. As they recrossed the lawn, a window that had been dark was lighted and Miss Emily sat in it, the light behind her, and her upright torso motionless as that of an idol. They crept quietly across the lawn and into the shadow of the locusts that lined the street. After a week or two the smell went away.
  • 12. That was when people had begun to feel really sorry for her. People in our town, remembering how old lady Wyatt, her great-aunt, had gone completely crazy at last, believed that the Griersons held themselves a little too high for what they really were. None of the young men were quite good enough for Miss Emily and such. We had long thought of them as a tableau, Miss Emily a slender figure in white in the background, her father a spraddled silhouette in the foreground, his back to her and clutching a horsewhip, the two of them framed by the back-flung front door. So when she got to be thirty and was still single, we were not pleased exactly, but vindicated; even with insanity in the family she wouldn't have turned down all of her chances if they had really materialized. When her father died, it got about that the house was all that was left to her; and in a way, people were glad. At last they could pity Miss Emily. Being left alone, and a pauper, she had become humanized. Now she too would know the old thrill and the old despair of a penny more or less.
  • 13. The day after his death all the ladies prepared to call at the house and offer condolence and aid, as is our custom Miss Emily met them at the door, dressed as usual and with no trace of grief on her face. She told them that her father was not dead. She did that for three days, with the ministers calling on her, and the doctors, trying to persuade her to let them dispose of the body. Just as they were about to resort to law and force, she broke down, and they buried her father quickly. We did not say she was crazy then. We believed she had to do that. We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which had robbed her, as people will.
  • 14. III SHE WAS SICK for a long time. When we saw her again, her hair was cut short, making her look like a girl, with a vague resemblance to those angels in colored church windows--sort of tragic and serene. The town had just let the contracts for paving the sidewalks, and in the summer after her father's death they began the work. The construction company came with niggers and mules and machinery, and a foreman named Homer Barron, a Yankee--a big, dark, ready man, with a big voice and eyes lighter than his face. The little boys would follow in groups to hear him cuss the niggers, and the niggers singing in time to the rise and fall of picks. Pretty soon he knew everybody in town. Whenever you heard a lot of laughing anywhere about the square, Homer Barron would be in the center of the group. Presently we began to see him and Miss Emily on Sunday afternoons driving in the yellow-wheeled buggy and the matched team of bays from the livery stable.
  • 15. At first we were glad that Miss Emily would have an interest, because the ladies all said, "Of course a Grierson would not think seriously of a Northerner, a day laborer." But there were still others, older people, who said that even grief could not cause a real lady to forget noblesse oblige- - without calling it noblesse oblige. They just said, "Poor Emily. Her kinsfolk should come to her." She had some kin in Alabama; but years ago her father had fallen out with them over the estate of old lady Wyatt, the crazy woman, and there was no communication between the two families. They had not even been represented at the funeral. And as soon as the old people said, "Poor Emily," the whispering began. "Do you suppose it's really so?" they said to one another. "Of course it is. What else could . . ." This behind their hands; rustling of craned silk and satin behind jalousies closed upon the sun of Sunday afternoon as the thin, swift clop-clop-clop of the matched team passed: "Poor Emily."
  • 16. She carried her head high enough--even when we believed that she was fallen. It was as if she demanded more than ever the recognition of her dignity as the last Grierson; as if it had wanted that touch of earthiness to reaffirm her imperviousness. Like when she bought the rat poison, the arsenic. That was over a year after they had begun to say "Poor Emily," and while the two female cousins were visiting her. "I want some poison," she said to the druggist. She was over thirty then, still a slight woman, though thinner than usual, with cold, haughty black eyes in a face the flesh of which was strained across the temples and about the eyesockets as you imagine a lighthouse-keeper's face ought to look. "I want some poison," she said. "Yes, Miss Emily. What kind? For rats and such? I'd recom--" "I want the best you have. I don't care what kind." The druggist named several. "They'll kill anything up to an elephant. But what you want is--" "Arsenic," Miss Emily said. "Is that a good one?" "Is . . . arsenic? Yes, ma'am. But what you want--" "I want arsenic."
  • 17. The druggist looked down at her. She looked back at him, erect, her face like a strained flag. "Why, of course," the druggist said. "If that's what you want. But the law requires you to tell what you are going to use it for.“ Miss Emily just stared at him, her head tilted back in order to look him eye for eye, until he looked away and went and got the arsenic and wrapped it up. The Negro delivery boy brought her the package; the druggist didn't come back. When she opened the package at home there was written on the box, under the skull and bones: "For rats."
  • 18. IV So THE NEXT day we all said, "She will kill herself"; and we said it would be the best thing. When she had first begun to be seen with Homer Barron, we had said, "She will marry him." Then we said, "She will persuade him yet," because Homer himself had remarked--he liked men, and it was known that he drank with the younger men in the Elks' Club--that he was not a marrying man. Later we said, "Poor Emily" behind the jalousies as they passed on Sunday afternoon in the glittering buggy, Miss Emily with her head high and Homer Barron with his hat cocked and a cigar in his teeth, reins and whip in a yellow glove. Then some of the ladies began to say that it was a disgrace to the town and a bad example to the young people. The men did not want to interfere, but at last the ladies forced the Baptist minister--Miss Emily's people were Episcopal-- to call upon her. He would never divulge what happened during that interview, but he refused to go back again. The next Sunday they again drove about the streets, and the following day the minister's wife wrote to Miss Emily's relations in Alabama.
  • 19. So she had blood-kin under her roof again and we sat back to watch developments. At first nothing happened. Then we were sure that they were to be married. We learned that Miss Emily had been to the jeweler's and ordered a man's toilet set in silver, with the letters H. B. on each piece. Two days later we learned that she had bought a complete outfit of men's clothing, including a nightshirt, and we said, "They are married." We were really glad. We were glad because the two female cousins were even more Grierson than Miss Emily had ever been. So we were not surprised when Homer Barron--the streets had been finished some time since--was gone. We were a little disappointed that there was not a public blowing-off, but we believed that he had gone on to prepare for Miss Emily's coming, or to give her a chance to get rid of the cousins. (By that time it was a cabal, and we were all Miss Emily's allies to help circumvent the cousins.) Sure enough, after another week they departed. And, as we had expected all along, within three days Homer Barron was back in town. A neighbor saw the Negro man admit him at the kitchen door at dusk one evening.
  • 20. And that was the last we saw of Homer Barron. And of Miss Emily for some time. The Negro man went in and out with the market basket, but the front door remained closed. Now and then we would see her at a window for a moment, as the men did that night when they sprinkled the lime, but for almost six months she did not appear on the streets. Then we knew that this was to be expected too; as if that quality of her father which had thwarted her woman's life so many times had been too virulent and too furious to die. When we next saw Miss Emily, she had grown fat and her hair was turning gray. During the next few years it grew grayer and grayer until it attained an even pepper-and-salt iron-gray, when it ceased turning. Up to the day of her death at seventy-four it was still that vigorous iron-gray, like the hair of an active man. From that time on her front door remained closed, save for a period of six or seven years, when she was about forty, during which she gave lessons in china-painting. She fitted up a studio in one of the downstairs rooms, where the daughters and granddaughters of Colonel Sartoris' contemporaries were sent to her with the same regularity and in the same spirit that they were sent to church on Sundays with a twenty-five-cent piece for the collection plate. Meanwhile her taxes had been remitted.
  • 21. Then the newer generation became the backbone and the spirit of the town, and the painting pupils grew up and fell away and did not send their children to her with boxes of color and tedious brushes and pictures cut from the ladies' magazines. The front door closed upon the last one and remained closed for good. When the town got free postal delivery, Miss Emily alone refused to let them fasten the metal numbers above her door and attach a mailbox to it. She would not listen to them. Daily, monthly, yearly we watched the Negro grow grayer and more stooped, going in and out with the market basket. Each December we sent her a tax notice, which would be returned by the post office a week later, unclaimed. Now and then we would see her in one of the downstairs windows--she had evidently shut up the top floor of the house--like the carven torso of an idol in a niche, looking or not looking at us, we could never tell which. Thus she passed from generation to generation--dear, inescapable, impervious, tranquil, and perverse.
  • 22. And so she died. Fell ill in the house filled with dust and shadows, with only a doddering Negro man to wait on her. We did not even know she was sick; we had long since given up trying to get any information from the Negro He talked to no one, probably not even to her, for his voice had grown harsh and rusty, as if from disuse. She died in one of the downstairs rooms, in a heavy walnut bed with a curtain, her gray head propped on a pillow yellow and moldy with age and lack of sunlight.
  • 23. V THE NEGRO met the first of the ladies at the front door and let them in, with their hushed, sibilant voices and their quick, curious glances, and then he disappeared. He walked right through the house and out the back and was not seen again. The two female cousins came at once. They held the funeral on the second day, with the town coming to look at Miss Emily beneath a mass of bought flowers, with the crayon face of her father musing profoundly above the bier and the ladies sibilant and macabre; and the very old men --some in their brushed Confederate uniforms--on the porch and the lawn, talking of Miss Emily as if she had been a contemporary of theirs, believing that they had danced with her and courted her perhaps, confusing time with its mathematical progression, as the old do, to whom all the past is not a diminishing road but, instead, a huge meadow which no winter ever quite touches, divided from them now by the narrow bottle-neck of the most recent decade of years.
  • 24. Already we knew that there was one room in that region above stairs which no one had seen in forty years, and which would have to be forced. They waited until Miss Emily was decently in the ground before they opened it. The violence of breaking down the door seemed to fill this room with pervading dust. A thin, acrid pall as of the tomb seemed to lie everywhere upon this room decked and furnished as for a bridal: upon the valance curtains of faded rose color, upon the rose-shaded lights, upon the dressing table, upon the delicate array of crystal and the man's toilet things backed with tarnished silver, silver so tarnished that the monogram was obscured. Among them lay a collar and tie, as if they had just been removed, which, lifted, left upon the surface a pale crescent in the dust. Upon a chair hung the suit, carefully folded; beneath it the two mute shoes and the discarded socks. The man himself lay in the bed.
  • 25. For a long while we just stood there, looking down at the profound and fleshless grin. The body had apparently once lain in the attitude of an embrace, but now the long sleep that outlasts love, that conquers even the grimace of love, had cuckolded him. What was left of him, rotted beneath what was left of the nightshirt, had become inextricable from the bed in which he lay; and upon him and upon the pillow beside him lay that even coating of the patient and biding dust. Then we noticed that in the second pillow was the indentation of a head. One of us lifted something from it, and leaning forward, that faint and invisible dust dry and acrid in the nostrils, we saw a long strand of iron-gray hair.