Halliday was different.
He had a rather heavy, slack, broken beauty, white and firm.

He was like a Christ in a Pieta.

The animal was not there at all, only the heavy, broken beauty.

And Gerald realised how Halliday's eyes were beautiful too, so blue and warm and confused, broken also in their expression.

The fireglow fell on his heavy, rather bowed shoulders, he sat slackly crouched on the fender, his face was uplifted, weak, perhaps slightly disintegrate, and yet with a moving beauty of its own.
'Of course,' said Maxim, 'you've been in hot countries where the people go about naked.' 'Oh really!' exclaimed Halliday.