The figure, never very large, was thin and shrunken unbelievably.

The features, waxy-white, were mercifully spared by the flames which had licked at the shielding hands and arms that had borne her hither.

Yet they seemed even more thin, more wax-like, more unreal, than had their pallor come by merciful death.

Death?
Ah, here was written death through years.

Life, full, red-blooded, abounding, luxuriant, riotous, never had animated this pallid form, or else had long years since abandoned it.