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Page "Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon" ¶ 27
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Her and funeral
Her closed-casket funeral ( recommended by the funeral director due to the ravages of AIDS, which was not properly understood at the time ) was held on November 21 at a small funeral home in Philadelphia.
Her attendants draped wreathes of yew around the necks of black bulls which they slaughtered in her honor and yew boughs were burned on funeral pyres.
Her funeral was televised live on domestic and international stations, including the BBC.
Her will specified a simple funeral.
Her funeral was held at New Birth Missionary Baptist Church in Lithonia, Georgia on May 2, 2002.
Her nephew, George Clooney, was a pallbearer at her funeral, which was attended by numerous stars, including Al Pacino.
Her funeral drew 60, 000 mourners, many of whom traveled from outside the United States.
Her character, May, appeared at the funeral of Blanche Hunt.
Her husband was killed by a lightning bolt at the siege of Thebes and she threw herself on his funeral pyre and died.
Her death came just one year after that of her daughter's former sister-in-law Diana, Princess of Wales, whose funeral Susan and Sarah had both attended in Westminster Abbey.
Her funeral was held in Connecticut on May 24, 1989.
Her death was not immediately expected, as Jimmy was touring in New York at the time and returned to Los Angeles right away to complete funeral arrangements.
Her funeral was held in Nashville, Tennessee on May 23, 2012.
Her funeral was held in Vienna on 1 April.
Her name was never mentioned at Nelson's funeral.
Her funeral was held at St. Margaret's, Westminster on 8 May 2008.
Her funeral was held on 5 November 2004, at St George's Chapel, Windsor, and she was interred next to her husband, Prince Henry, and her elder son, Prince William, in the Royal Burial Ground at Frogmore.
* Richard Steele-The Procession: A poem on Her Majesties funeral
Showell hosted a program featuring highlights of the funeral, Coretta Scott King: Celebrating Her Spirit, that broadcast that same day.
Her funeral took place three days later.
Her funeral in Jacksonville, Florida on May 2, 1926 was attended by 5, 000 mourners.

Her and was
Her face was very thin, and burned by the sun until much of the skin was dead and peeling, the new skin under it red and angry.
Her blond hair was frowzy, her dress torn in several places, and her shoes were so completely worn out that they were practically no protection.
Her form was silhouetted and with the strong light I could see the outlines of her body, a body that an artist or anyone else would have admired.
Her mouth, which had been so much in my thoughts, was warm and moist and tender.
Her heart, her maternal feeling, in fact her being was too busy expressing itself, as quietly thrilled by this sight of her Nicolas curled asleep under a blanket, in a park like a scene from Poussin.
Her white blond hair was clean and brushed long straight down to her shoulders.
Her thick hair was the color and texture of charcoal.
Her laugh was hard.
Her face was pale but set and her dark eyes smoldered with blame for Ben.
Her stern was down and a sharp list helped us to cut loose the lifeboat which dropped heavily into the water.
Her name was L'Turu and she told me many things.
( Her account was later confirmed by the Scobee-Frazier Expedition from the University of Manitoba in 1951.
Her mother was a good manager and established a millinery business in Milwaukee.
Her name was Esther Peter.
Her brother Karl was a very gentle soul, her mother was a quiet woman who said little but who had hard, probing eyes.
Her mother, now dead, was my good friend and when she came to tell us about her plans and to show off her ring I had a sobering wish to say something meaningful to her, something her mother would wish said.
Her action was involuntary.
Her name was Mollie.
Her speech was barren of southernisms ; ;
Her quarters were on the right as you walked into the building, and her small front room was clogged with heavy furniture -- a big, round, oak dining table and chairs, a buffet, with a row of unclaimed letters inserted between the mirror and its frame.
Her hair was dyed, and her bloom was fading, and she must have been crowding forty, but she seemed to be one of those women who cling to the manners and graces of a pretty child of eight.
Her voice was ripe and full and her teeth flashed again in Sicilian brilliance before the warm curved lips met and her mouth settled in repose.

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