He backed away from the body as far as he could, then came forward stealthily casting fearful glances to steal another look at the bruised forehead.

There would perhaps be such a faint bruise on his own forehead--before the morning.
"I can't bear it," he whispered to himself.

Tom was for him now an object of horror, a sight at once tempting and revolting to his fear.

He couldn't bear to look at him.
At last, desperation getting the better of his increasing horror, he stepped forward from the wall against which he had been leaning, seized the corpse under the armpits, and began to lug it over to the bed.

The bare heels of the seaman trailed on the floor noiselessly.