There could be seen a certain stiffness in the movements of his body, as if he were taking infinite care not to arouse the passion of his wounds.

As he went on, he seemed always looking for a place, like one who goes to choose a grave.
Something in the gesture of the man as he waved the bloody and pitying soldiers away made the youth start as if bitten.

He yelled in horror.
Tottering forward he laid a quivering hand upon the man's arm.

As the latter slowly turned his waxlike features toward him, the youth screamed: "Gawd! Jim Conklin!" The tall soldier made a little commonplace smile.

"Hello, Henry," he said.
The youth swayed on his legs and glared strangely.