She nodded.
"Come back and tell me," she said. "Myself I shall not look. I am not fond of horrors."
She took up her book, and he jumped down upon the line and made his way to where a little group of men were standing in a circle. Some one turned away with white face as he approached and stopped him.
"Don't look!—for God's sake, don't look!" he said. "It's too awful.
It isn't fit. Fetch a tarpaulin, some one."
"Was he run over?" some one asked. "Threw himself from that carriage," the guard answered, moving his head towards a third-class compartment, of which the door stood open. "He was dragged half a mile, and—there isn't much left of him, poor devil," he added, with a little break in his speech.
"Does any one know who he was?" the young man asked.
"No one—nor where he got in."
"No luggage?"
"None."
The young man set his teeth and moved towards the carriage. His hand stole for a moment to his pocket, then he seemed to pick something up from the dusty floor.