Only the head lay above the coverlet; withered and shrunken it was, yet the brow was high, and it was plain that the features had been fine and strong, betokening the once keen and sensitive nerve--there was nothing sensitive now; all thought and feeling had for ever fled.

The half-shut lids disclosed the vacant eyes; the hair lay clammy and matted on the wrinkled brow; there was nothing of life left but the breath.
'It's my opinion, sir, that he'll live out his natural time.

It's a theory of mine that we are all born with a certain length of life in us, and, barring accident, that time we'll live.

Well, of course this man had the accident of his stroke, which by rights ought to have done for him, but by some fluke he weathered it, and now he'll live out his time.
If one could find out his ancestors and see how long they each lived, with a little calculation I could tell you how long he'd lie there.' With that the apothecary poked his patient in the cheek, and jerked him by the arm, to show Skelton how completely consciousness was gone.

He would have treated a corpse with more respect: the lowest of us has some reverence for death.
Just then the door, which had been left ajar, was pushed open, and a slight, sweet-faced woman came in from the street.