"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."
The first time I read this story, I was reminded of a book I read in the past year (I can't remember the title) that had a similar, yet completely different story. The essentials were all there to resemble this short story: old woman who dies in a small town, curious townspeople who wonder about her life, and a house with more questions than a curious 3-year-old. However, the similarities basically stopped there. The woman in the book I read left all of her money to the town she lived in. The woman in Faulkner's story only left a mystery, a dead body, and some of her "iron-gray hair."
Miss Emily initially struck me as a small sort of woman who needed pity for her pathetic life. After having read the story, though, I realized she is just a psychotic lady who was too selfish to admit that theman she loved was gay. She couldn't have him, so no one could. Poor thing.
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