So the baby was carried in a small deal box, under an ancient woman’s shawl, to the churchyard that night, and buried by lantern-light, at the cost of a shilling and a pint of beer to the sexton, in that shabby corner of God’s allotment where He lets the nettles grow, and where all unbaptized infants, notorious drunkards, suicides, and others of the conjecturally damned are laid.
Thomas Hardy
Tess of the D’Urbervilles was a hidiously depressing book.
Based on this quote I can believe it. But this quote struck me as so sad I decided to give it a place.