Selina was giggling with hysteria.

Marcus, terrified, but too brave to run, had picked up a jagged stone with his left hand and stood on the defensive.

His swollen right arm, from which the shirt sleeve had been torn, dangled at his side, the back of the hand twisted where the palm should have been.

The shirt itself was a mass of grass stains and was spotted with the dentist's blood.
But McTeague, in the centre of the group that struggled to hold him, was nigh to madness.

The side of his face, his neck, and all the shoulder and breast of his shirt were covered with blood.