The outer wrappings, torn and loosened by rude touch, and with the colour either darkened by dust or worn light by friction, seemed creased as by rough treatment; the jagged edges of the wrapping-cloths looked fringed; the painting was patchy, and the varnish chipped.

The coverings were evidently many, for the bulk was great.

But through all, showed that unhidable human figure, which seems to look more horrible when partially concealed than at any other time.

What was before us was Death, and nothing else.
All the romance and sentiment of fancy had disappeared.

The two elder men, enthusiasts who had often done such work, were not disconcerted; and Doctor Winchester seemed to hold himself in a business-like attitude, as if before the operating-table.