her and daughter.

This is not a tomb in the true sense, but a cabinet where urns are stored, one after another, one row after another, one overlapping the other.
Klein stood there and saw that not only was there no photo or epitaph on old Kohler’s cabinet, but his name was also missing.
Similar situations are not uncommon. There are too many ownerless ashes whose relatives and friends cannot be found. No one knows or feels their last names, what they looked like, and what experiences they had. Interested, only the number on the cabinet distinguishes them.
Klein closed his eyes, took out a piece of note paper, shook it into a piece of iron, and carved a word on the cabinet door:
“Kohler.”
Then, he added the epitaph:
“He was a good worker. He once had a wife and a pair of children. He worked hard to live.”
Pulling back his wrist and flicking it, Klein, who had black hair and brown eyes and a thin face, let the paper burn in his hand, as if he was paying homage to all the souls here.
For Daisy, who lost her mother and sister, he did not directly come to help. Instead, he wrote an anonymous letter to reporter Mike Joseph, describing the girl’s plight in detail so as not to implicate the other party with his own affairs.
Reporter Mike has met Daisy, knows her story, and has enthusiastically promoted the establishment of corresponding charitable funds. Therefore, Klein believes that he will help Daisy get more assistance so that she can complete basic education and find enough education. Stable job to support yourself.
Taking two steps back, Klein looked around, taking in the victims who only had their names and photos left here, and not even these.
He raised his head, exhaled slowly, turned around, and left the cemetery.
On the steam train bound for Backlund, Melissa was looking at the textbook intently, while Benson quickly started chatting with the passengers around him.
“It’s too expensive, it’s too expensive, a full 10 soles and half a pound.” A middle-aged man under thirty sighed sincerely. “If it weren’t for the fact that I couldn’t buy a third-class seat or a ticket recently, I wouldn’t have done it at all. I will spend this money, which is equivalent to most of my weekly salary.”
“Indeed, too many people go to Backlund after the New Year.” Benson agreed.
The strong man put away his distressed expression and said expectantly:
“Because they promised 21 soles a week and promised not to work more than 12 hours a day, we signed the contract
“Your wish will definitely come true. The king has signed an order allowing the implementation of the bill stipulating minimum wages and working hours.” Benson sincerely blessed him, then smiled, “That’s the land of hope.”
Woo
The steam train arrived at Backlund with countless hopeful people. At this time, the sky was still bright, the fog in the air was also much thinner, and the gas lamps hanging above the platform no longer lit up early.
Benson protected his sister and wallet very experiencedly, carried his suitcase, and followed the crowd out of the station.