The technology of the didn't allow for that. A dead child, cherubim-faced, seeming only to sleep in its tiny coffin. Diseases were rife in that era, diphtheria and cholera among them. Fires killed, too. Bowler-hatted midgets stride to the Schlitz tavern.
Men stand astride their primitive, toy-like tractors.
Fancied-up women in clothing as cloaking and modest as that in any Eastern land. The yards are large and the foliage abounding. Most everyone stares out, both into the middle distance and into the great distance in which we live. This is a novel your dreams will explain to you in the nights after you are done perusing Lesy's savage catalog. Michael Lesy, ed.