The two men stopped in front of a tombstone with a faded inscription that had been eroded by the elements. It was just an ordinary tombstone. Sweeping their gazes across it, they saw that the cemetery had countless other similar-looking tombstones quietly erected.
However, this particular one was distinctive because it lacked care. The white tombstone had turned to a dark grey and it looked decrepit.
"This is 'my' father's," Dunn said as he stood in front of the tombstone.
Twain squatted down and reached out to pick out the black spots on it. He thought they were just regular spots. He had not expected the marks to penetrate the inner layers of the tombstone. It was impossible to pick them out.
"I haven't been here since the burial."
"How long ago?"
"Ten years."
