It was about the beginning of July 2009, that I, among the rest of my neighbours, heard in ordinary discourse that the plague was spreading into new parishes. It was printed in the weekly bill of mortality in the usual manner that the total number who had perished from the swine plague did stand at 29. The people showed a great concern at this but the physicians told the people not to be alarmed, proclaiming that a paltry 45,000 should die of this malaise.

And the ordinary parishioners did ask, "What should we do if the dead-cart bellmen call upon us to bring out our dead? How might we know what truly is the order of the government? What is the name of the official that should guide us through these times? And when we chance upon that name of his, what shall he command that we do with our dead?"
And from the rough hewn fellows that are want to disrespect the dead in these matters, the answer came there one: "Burnham, mate...."