best dialogue was about the umbrella. I almost wish you'd kept it going a little more as they trudged. This is one of the better prose dd's I have seen this year.
Yet another wonderful period piece. It took me far too long to get to this one. Although it was certainly worth the wait.
This whole piece was tightly written, and the sentence structure supported the tone. I rather like that the weather itself seemed to be a character in its own right. There was nothing extraneous or unnecessary to slow down the narrative.
It looks as if doughboycafe already fixed up anything wrong with it, and I really don't have any suggestions for improvement.
"You can’t let a woman in even at another woman’s funeral, thought Jack." I'll be honest, this was my favorite line. It says quite a bit about Jack and the strumpet he was looking at. It also adds a bit of levity to a very somber story.
All in all, magnifico! One of these days, I'm going to have to scour through your gallery and read some of your other stuff!
Not much in the way of grammar shiz, but lots of it was conveniently located in one paragraph. And as this paragraph is some seriously eerie foreshadowing, I think it needs to be brushed up because it is going to carry a lot of story weight.
“Shall we go, now?” Jack put his hat on, just not to look at whatever dismay might show on his face. On whose face? I assume Cowden's since Jack can't look at his own face, but the sentence is a little strange. maybe "Jack put his hat on so he didn't have to look at Cowden's dismayed face" or something. Or if he's trying to be respectful of Cowden "put his hat on so as not to look at..."
The door creaked closed again. Cowden preceded him outside, marched up holding his hat against the wind, turned to the left; Marched up to what? Up the drive? Maybe you can rearrange this or pepper it with gerunds... I suggest "Cowden preceded him, marching out, holding his hat up against the wind, and turned left;"
the long-dried grime on his gaiters acquired fresh smudges of mud as his feet sank in it to the ankles. This might be a joke, but really the first place I went with it was 'they will be way more than smudges if he's up to the ankles in mud"
Jack locked the front door and dashed behind him. I would say 'dashed out' f u phrasal verbs
Cowden didn’t pause to wait. Didn’t even look behind. I know what this means but pause to wait seems a little redundant, and the sentence frag seems clunky to me. Maybe, "Cowden didn't wait, didn't even look behind."
Down a few paragraphs... pewter pots lined up to gleam in the half-light. This makes it sound like the pots were lined up for the specific purpose of gleaming in the half light, which sounds weird. If they were lined up to catch light to show them off, I would say catch, if they just happened to be gleaming, I'd gerund this shit. "pewter pots lined up and gleaming in the half light."
All that said, it's a damn powerful piece, and I very much liked it. You get a lot about the characters in a small amount of time and it's powerfully sad. I had a creeping feeling halfway in and it just stuck a knife in me when i realized it was Eliza's funeral. The back end of it is tight and very well done. Part of my feeling on it is knowing the characters so well, so I know how hard and tough Jack is, but then you put him next to Cowden and you get, well, my favorite line:
Cowden just stared to the front, as still and old as the stone and the rain.
I fucking wish I could eat this line I like it so much.
Fantastic use of setting as well, and way to trick us in the beginning into thinking this wasn't going to be the most depressing thing ever. It worked.
Jack has exactly zero fucks to give about feelings, but for his standards he's trying very hard to be nice and caring here. Cowden, let's say I couldn't have written this sketch from his point of view: he wouldn't speak, not a single word.
Now that I think about your favourite line, though, the rain physically cannot be still; I shall edit that adjective out, if you don't mind.
And yeah well while Jack has zero fucks to give, he might have half a fuck for Cowden losing his beloved, if for nothing else that Cowden isn't whining like a bitch about it, so it must mean he's got some serious feels.
Jack doesn't hang out with people who whine like bitches. That's why he never liked Lieutenant Swank and was happy that the little fop eventually got off his lawn ("lawn" meaning the army). Enter generic statement of 100% pure manliness.