"Besides, you won't be staying in the old home in the future. If the old lady's tombstone gets knocked over by the wind and rain, it costs money to fix it. We're using this money for her, aren't we?" Mrs. Harris speaks as if she is very filial.
Such a grandiose justification, Viola Harris looks at the undisguised greed on her mother's face, feeling a wave of disgust within.
Grandma's corpse is not even cold, and she's cursing the tombstone to be washed away for the sake of some money.
"Enough, we won't take a penny of that money. You can just keep it."
Viola Harris's tone and expression are not good, and Mrs. Harris seems a bit upset, "Am I wrong for doing this? Will you be living at home in the future? During festivals, we have to burn paper, and isn't it our family who's footing the bill? I'm keeping this money not for myself."
"Alright, stop arguing." Mr. Harris tries to mediate, but unfortunately, it doesn't help.
