The rest, save a few, lay upon the ground as if dead.

On all sides of them stretched the pines and the soft black earth.

It looked to the fugitives like a region into which no human beings had ever come, or ever would come again, and, alas! to most of them like a region from which no human being would ever emerge.
Henry sat upon a piece of fallen brushwood near the edge of the morass, and looked at the fugitives, and his heart sank within him.

They were hardly in the likeness of his own kind, and they seemed practically lifeless now.

Everything was dull, heavy, and dead.