The trembling thighs were greasy with sweat.

The ribs were like staves, or like the bars of a cage, the flesh swollen, blue, mottled with flea-bites, specked as with pin-pricks by spines broken off from the rods of the scourging and now festering beneath the skin where they had penetrated.
Purulence was at hand.

The fluvial wound in the side dripped thickly, inundating the thigh with blood that was like congealing mulberry juice.
Milky pus, which yet was somewhat reddish, something like the colour of grey Moselle, oozed from the chest and ran down over the abdomen and the loin cloth.

The knees had been forced together and the rotulae touched, but the lower legs were held wide apart, though the feet were placed one on top of the other.

These, beginning to putrefy, were turning green beneath a river of blood.