All the fear had departed from his face now as he snatched up a bone out
of one of the shelves.
These bones, I should say, were all placed as neatly and systematically
as you could wish, built up in stacks, and all clear and clean as though
they had been bleached.
"This here was his forearm," said Canlan, his yellow eyeballs suddenly
afire with a fearsome light; and he rapped me over the knuckles with a
human elbow.
"Ain't it terrible?" he said.
"It is terrible," said I.
"Ah!" he cried. "But I don't mean what you mean; I mean ain't it
terrible to think o' that?" and he pointed to the cupboard, "to think o'
comin' to that--bein' picked clean like that--little bits o' you runnin'
about all over them almighty hills inside the rats' bellies and your
bones piled away to turn yellow in a spidery cupboard."