He would have thought that he would have trembled more violently.
For fully five minutes, he stood motionless, lost in unconscious contemplation, engraving, in spite of himself, in his memory, all the horrible lines, all the dirty colours of the picture he had before his eyes.
Camille was hideous.

He had been a fortnight in the water.

His face still appeared firm and rigid; the features were preserved, but the skin had taken a yellowish, muddy tint.

The thin, bony, and slightly tumefied head, wore a grimace.

It was a trifle inclined on one side, with the hair sticking to the temples, and the lids raised, displaying the dull globes of the eyes.