Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. Mr. " "Company!" echoed Rachel; "at this time of night?" "Company, child," repeated Kneebone. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town.
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