He made a singular figure as he lounged there at the pilot-house window, huge elbows on the sill.

One hand was wrapped in bandages, well saturated with croton-oil.

Chars and burns on his uniform showed where blazing petrol from the final explosion had spattered him.
His eyes, like the Master's, were bloodshot, inflamed.

Part of his red crop of hair had been singed off, and all his eyelashes were gone, as well as half his bushy red brows.

But the ugly set of his jaw, the savage gleam of his eyes showed that no physical pain was depressing him.