Stromp Gyurláné's grave is whiter than the rest, and newer-looking, perhaps for having spent less time alive, and thus being newer-looking, him- or herself, than the other being laid to rest.
Died the same year as did all hopes that the Great War would be an aberration, as did Laura Marcis-Oehring, eighteen years after her husband - which sounds unfair, and is, but not as you might expect; he first cried when Cardigan fought Nicolas the first, she only when Alexander the second had expired.
They both lost to Bertá, who in a faultless show of gratitude sniffed puberty, understood and left. Once unhearable, better unseen: she got the third-place inscription, despite winning.
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