The smile melted away from her face, and then contorted into a pained grimace. Small pools gathered in the bottom of her eyes. Marlo cradled it in her...arms and rested her head on top of the lid. She began to weep, slowly shaking as she sobbed. I joined her.My sister never cried very much, even during the funeral with dozens of bereaved relatives hardly able to stand they were so grief-stricken. She always had to be the emotional fortress-never wavering, always supporting, always the crutch for. I guess women's lib was a long way off. The most intriguing thing she told me about was the succession of control of the camps. It seems that the toughest was boss. Currently that was the one known as Maxtono. Another custom was if one man was killed by another, all his property, including wives, mistresses and children belonged to the man who killed him. That man was expected to take care of the women and children by providing food and shelter. But if a man was killed by a beast, the widow and. More

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