I looked from his hands to his sand-stained khaki pants; my eyes traveled up his thin frame to his torn denim shirt. His face was as white as his hands, but for a shadow on his jutting chin. His cheeks were thin to hollowness; his mouth was wide; there were shallow, almost delicate indentations at his temples, and his gray eyes were so colorless that I thought he was blind. His hair was dead and thin, almost feathery on top of his head. 我從他的手一路觀察到他那拖泥裹沙的卡其布褲子，我的目光從他瘦弱的骨架游走到他那破洞的牛仔襯衣。他的臉同他的手一樣白，除了他前突的下巴有層暗影；他的面頰消瘦到成了兩個凹窩，嘴巴很寬大，太陽穴那兒還有淺淺的、幾乎無法察覺的凹陷，灰色的眼睛幾乎不帶顏色搞得我還以為他失明了，而他那稀疏的頭發(fā)一片荒蕪就跟羽毛一樣覆蓋在他頭頂。