Only on the slight elevation where the land sloped down towards the muddy point a few men, either friends or enemies of Mahmat, remained gazing curiously for some time longer at the small group standing around the body on the river bank.
"I do not understand what you mean, Babalatchi," said Almayer.

"What is the ring you are talking about?
Whoever he is, you have trodden the poor fellow's hand right into the mud.

Uncover his face," he went on, addressing Mrs.Almayer, who, squatting by the head of the corpse, rocked herself to and fro, shaking from time to time her dishevelled grey locks, and muttering mournfully.
"Hai!" exclaimed Mahmat, who had lingered close by.

"Look, Tuan; the logs came together so," and here he pressed the palms of his hands together, "and his head must have been between them, and now there is no face for you to look at.

There are his flesh and his bones, the nose, and the lips, and maybe his eyes, but nobody could tell the one from the other.