[Frontier Stories by Bret Harte]@TWC D-Link bookFrontier Stories CHAPTER VI 27/97
It was new, shiny, and of modish shape.
But it was so incongruous, so perkily smart, and yet so feeble and helpless lying there, so ghastly ludicrous in its very appropriateness and incapacity to adjust itself to the surrounding landscape, that it affected him with something more than a sense of its grotesqueness, and he could only stare at it blankly. "But you're not looking the right way," the girl went on sharply; "look there!" Cass followed the direction of her whip.
At last, what might have seemed a coat thrown carelessly on the ground met his eye, but presently he became aware of a white, rigid, aimlessly-clinched hand protruding from the flaccid sleeve; mingled with it in some absurd way and half hidden by the grass, lay what might have been a pair of cast-off trousers but for two rigid boots that pointed in opposite angles to the sky.
It was a dead man! So palpably dead that life seemed to have taken flight from his very clothes.
So impotent, feeble, and degraded by them that the naked subject of a dissecting table would have been less insulting to humanity.
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