…”All those keepsakes: photographs, trinkets, letters, cards, little knick-knacks which tug at the heart-strings in quiet moments,” said Bill as he paced my room with his meticulously measured tread.
“When girls die they get to take these things with them, “said Bill’s friend doing like wise but in the other direction, “you can see them if you look hard enough, “he motioned to the window which arched across the top of my room,” there they go… forever lugging their load along the in-transitory roads and pathways of the dead.”
“Depending upon their preponderance, it can take an eternity but they never let go,” said Bill.
“If they ever get to heaven they arrange their haul neatly on the mantelpiece of a room, the door of which bears their name and dates,” said Bill’s friend.
“A room of memories in the house of death preserved for the rest of time. There’s no escaping it!” said Bill. He smiled.
Bill’s friend smiled too, “You can try any of the doors you pass. The glimpse you get of the mantle-piece from the doorway if the door opens is a memory test that grades your success in the life to come.”
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