All sorts of accidents have happened to them: explosions have blinded them, steam has scalded them, buffers have crushed them, coal has buried them, trains have run over them, circular saws have torn them asunder.

They are bent and they are twisted, they are terrible to look at; as we gaze at them we are fascinated.

March! now see them move! Did you ever see anything like this march of disabled men from the gloom of the underworld?
How they shuffle and drag along; what strange, twisted and jerky movements they have; what sufferings they must endure, and what pain they must have had.

All these thoughts come to us as we look at the march of the disabled as they twist and writhe past us.
The procession is endless, for it is continually augmented by men and women from the upperworld, who as conscripts are sent to the army below, because they have sustained injuries in the service of the world above.
So they pass! But the upperworld has not done with them; it does not get rid of its natural obligations so easily.

It suffers with them, and pays dearly for its neglect of them.