Everyone else had long gone, and the Mortician coughed.
"Sir, I still need to clear up."
I pointed at the casket.
"Why aren't I sad?"
"Sir?"
"The only woman not obliged to love me who did so anyway, who died of a terrible illness, and I'm here feeling... Relief? The fuck is wrong with me?"
"Sir, I've been doing this job for thirty years. I've seen every shade of grief, and also joy, anger, lust.
And a surprisingly large amount of indifference."
"And relief?"
"She was in pain, was she not?"
"Well, yeah."
"Do you require the dots connected, Sir?"
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