Epitaph

And now, a tale well calculated to keep you in, I shall think of her often, with tenderness and gratitude because marculous in the, Phoebe and I were happy together. Phoebe is dead, but Lucinda is not.

In just a moment, epitaph, starring Ploemograph and Barbara Becker, and written especially for suspense by Walter Black. The lively crowd, today you greet, those who think young say pep feet sing. They pick the right one, the modern light one.

Now it's pep feet, for those who think young. So go ahead and fix the drink, that lets you drink young as you think. Yes, get the right one, the modern light one. Now expect the for those who think young.

When did I almost didn't come today to see the. But I couldn't disappoint you. And see a new race for you. Here at the corner of your headstone. Here lies the be howled as rich.

Beloved wife of Martin's pure. S. Ridge, born September 19, 1843. Passed away, February 26, 1892. Grieve not, for we shall meet. Where angels sing, oh Phoebe, Phoebe, how I miss you. I warned you no good would come of marrying him.

You were so sure he loved you. I knew it was only your money he wanted. But he shared profit by your death. I promise you that my sister. For the aforesaid publicism pursuant to the laws of Amant, I hear with name Eren Jenkins, attorney-at-law, my executor, and for all the wrongs there. Well, will itself be simple and direct

to your housekeeper Agatha. Miss Phoebe has left her most generous bequest of $1000 and to your maid Mary the summer $500. I assume Miss Lucinda and Mr. Etheridge you will retain our services. Well that is entirely up to Miss Howe.