He could not, he would not, believe it.

Well, I knew that his eyes must very soon be opened to the truth....
As I turned to see him sitting on the stretcher with his back to me, his head hanging a little as though it were too heavy for his neck, his back bent, his long arms fallen loose at his sides, I thought that Alice's White Knight he, in solemn truth, presented.
He had a talent for doing things to his uniform.

His cap, instead of being raised in front, was flat, his jacket bulged out above his belt, and the straps on his boot had broken from their holdings.

He filled the pockets of his trousers, in moments of absent-minded absorption, with articles that he fancied that he would need--sometimes food, black bread and sausage, sometimes a large pocket-knife, a folding drinking glass, a ball of string, a notebook.

These things protruded, or gave his clothes a strange bulky look, fat in some places, thin in others.