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Updated: May 8, 2025
The look of sleekness and refined elegance had disappeared his face, his hands, his attitude were contorted by a revolting expression of something between horror and agonizing physical pain. His nose, his lips, his moustache, all his features were moving and seemed trying to tear themselves from his face, his eyes looked as though they were laughing with agony. . . .
He winced backward as though she had struck him, and his face contorted with sudden panic. He cowered away from her and covered his own eyes. "Don't you look at me like that! I never done nothing!" he whined. "Canaille!" said Solange. Her voice was a mere whisper but it fairly singed with scorn. Fearless, she stared at him and he could not meet her gaze.
Many a cliff in Arabia Petraea is as manifold in color as the rainbow, and the veins are so variable in thickness and inclination, so contorted and involved in arrangement, as to bewilder the eye of the spectator like a disk of party-colored glass in rapid evolution.
In two or three minutes the captain and the two men appeared on the deck, and he laughed quietly to himself. He could see that their faces were contorted by rage. They could follow his trail some distance at least in the sand, but he knew that they would be cautious. He had shown them his quality and they would fear an ambush.
He broke down absolutely, threw himself on his face on the divan with his arms stretched out beyond his head, grasped the cushions and sobbed. His body shook and twitched; his face was contorted; his soul writhed. A storm that came from within him broke upon him. He crashed into the abyss. Down, down he went, till the last faint ray from above was utterly blotted out.
"Get you, Bill?" he asked laconically stooping over his chief. "Yes. I'm a gone coon I guess, Buck." His red face, contorted and purple from pain, the stricken man slid backward. His lips parted and became ashen. The poison was coursing through his veins with terrific rapidity. "Let me see. Maybe I can be of some use. Stand aside, please." It was Peggy.
He was trying to smile as he spoke these last words, and, with quavering soft tones, to quiet me; but the old scowl was there, the smile was corpse-like and contorted, and the softness of his tones was more dreadful than another man's ferocity. 'There, Madame, she'll go quite gently, and you can call if you want help. Don't let it happen again.
We called at some more places with farcical names, where the merry dance of death and trade goes on in a still and earthy atmosphere as of an overheated catacomb; all along the formless coast bordered by dangerous surf, as if Nature herself had tried to ward off intruders; in and out of rivers, streams of death in life, whose banks were rotting into mud, whose waters, thickened into slime, invaded the contorted mangroves, that seemed to writhe at us in the extremity of an impotent despair.
Just for a second it shone out, angles and lines so clearly revealed that it was as though the crowd had vanished, and that one contorted face glared alone at the windows in a flare of hell-fire. Clementina saw the face too, for she drew back instinctively within the curtains of the window. "The man at Peri," said she, in a whisper.
Long time he look for Medaine. But no. Then " his face suddenly contorted " one night in the cathedral at St. Menehould, I find heem. But Pierre not know his père. He not answer Ba'teese when he call 'Pierre! Pierre! Here, and here, and here " the big man pointed to his breast and face and arms "was the shrapnel. He sigh in my arms then he is gone. Ba'teese ask that night for duty on the line.
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