`` Silks -- satins -- velvets -- jewels -- laces -- they never wore anything else . Here is one of Jane Andrews ' stories depicting her heroine as sleeping in a beautiful white satin nightdress trimmed with seed pearls . '' `` Go on , '' said Stella . `` I begin to feel that life is worth living as long as there 's a laugh in it . '' `` Here 's one I wrote . My heroine is disporting herself at a ball ` glittering from head to foot with large diamonds of the first water . ' But what booted beauty or rich attire ? ` The paths of glory lead but to the grave . ' They must either be murdered or die of a broken heart . There was no escape for them . '' `` Let me read some of your stories . '' `` Well , here 's my masterpiece . Note its cheerful title -- ` My Graves . ' I shed quarts of tears while writing it , and the other girls shed gallons while I read it . Jane Andrews ' mother scolded her frightfully because she had so many handkerchiefs in the wash that week . It 's a harrowing tale of the wanderings of a Methodist minister 's wife . I made her a Methodist because it was necessary that she should wander . She buried a child every place she lived in . There were nine of them and their graves were severed far apart , ranging from Newfoundland to Vancouver . I described the children , pictured their several death beds , and detailed their tombstones and epitaphs .
I had intended to bury the whole nine but when I had disposed XXXXX eight my invention of horrors gave out and I permitted the ninth to live as a hopeless cripple . ''
Silks at because epitaphs for in of on that to