the City of London had died and been buried hurriedly the night before.
And there were no stones with names, only small, flat sticks at one end
of each grave to show where the heads were.

Roddy said, "We've got to go all through this to get to the other side."

They could see Mamma and Aunt Lavvy a long way on in front picking their
way gingerly among the furrows. If only Mark had been there instead of
Roddy. Roddy _would_ keep on saying: "The great plague of London. The
great plague of London," to frighten himself. He pointed to a heap of
earth and said it was the first plague pit.

In the middle of the ploughed-up plain she saw people in black walking
slowly and crookedly behind a coffin that went staggering on black legs
under a black pall. She tried not to look at them.

When she looked again they had stopped beside a heap that Roddy said was
the second plague pit. Men in black crawled out from under the coffin as
they put it down. She could see the bulk of it flattened out under the
black pall. Against the raw, ochreish ground the figures of two mutes
stood up, black and distinct in their high hats tied in the bunched out,
streaming weepers. There was something filthy and frightful about the
figures of the mutes. And when they dragged the pall from the coffin
there was something filthy and frightful about the action.

"Roddy," she said, "I'm frightened."

Roddy said, "So am I. I say, supposing we went back? By ourselves. Across
Wanstead Flats." He was excited.