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Updated: May 15, 2025
But it fell when he opened the cellar-door, and saw Barton and the wife both bending over the sick man's couch with awestruck, saddened look. "Come here," said Barton. "There's a change comed over him sin' yo left, is there not?" Wilson looked. The flesh was sunk, the features prominent, bony, and rigid. The fearful clay-colour of death was over all.
He was worn to the bone either by famine or distemper; his face was overshadowed with hair and filth; his eyes were sunk, glazed, and distorted; his nostrils dilated; his lips covered with a black slough; and his complexion faded into a pale clay-colour, tending to a yellow hue. In a word, the extremity of indigence, squalor, and distress could not be more feelingly represented.
He was worn to the bone either by famine or distemper; his face was overshadowed with hair and filth; his eyes were sunk, glazed, and distorted; his nostrils dilated; his lips covered with a black slough; and his complexion faded into a pale clay-colour, tending to a yellow hue. In a word, the extremity of indigence, squalor, and distress could not be more feelingly represented.
Antelopes are all more or less sandy-coloured. The camel is pre-eminently so. The Egyptian cat and the Pampas cat are sandy or earth-coloured. The Australian kangaroos are of the same tints, and the original colour of the wild horse is supposed to have been a sandy or clay-colour. The desert birds are still more remarkably protected by their assimilative hues.
For about an hour and a half we rode through an enormous waste covered with trailing weeds, towards the verdant banks of the Jordan, which are known from a distance by the beautiful blooming green of the meadows that surround it. We halted in the so-called "Jordan-vale," where our Saviour was baptised by St. John. The water of the Jordan is of a dingy clay-colour; its course is very rapid.
The roads and mud huts were all the one warm clay-colour, and the light was becoming violet, with a faint pink in the sky. In the country the roads and fields were almost milk-colour, and trees with yellow flowers were on either side.
"Who is it that insults me? who dares to malign me? What spy of the Girondists, what traitor of the Bourbons, what hireling of the gold of Pitt, is among us?" exclaimed the bold ruffian, yet with a visage which, even at the distance, I could observe had lost its usual fiery hue, and turned clay-colour. "Who accuses me?"
He was clay-colour, and perspiration stood on his forehead. "You must make her out without any more help from me. I tell you the letter is all nonsense, and I can say no more." He moved towards the exit. "One thing I must know, Hilliard Are you going to see her again?" "Never if I can help it." "Can we be friends still?" "If you never mention her name to me."
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