A brace of Colt's revolvers swung from his belt, the tatters of his blood-stained garments hung about him.

They were blood and tatters from head to foot, and from drying red masks peered their bloodshot eyes.

I had forgot to tell you at first, that besides the Coaches we come in our selves, there is one which stands always empty to carry off our dead Men, for so we call all those Fragments and Tatters with which the Room is strewed, and which we pack up together in Bundles and put into the aforesaid Coach.

All our belongings we abandoned, and set out for the Laughing Lass with only the tatters in which we stood.

"If I have to go back as I came, alone," she reflected, "all in tatters like this, to find that he is at the mines or the village, attending to his work, I shall cut a fine figure, shan't I?

The room to which he retired for the night had a confused and desolate aspect; the curtains seemed to have been violently torn down from the bed, and still hung in tatters around itthe table seemed to have been broken by some violent concussion, and the fragments of various pieces of furniture lay scattered upon the floor.

She strove as she went to put away from her the memory of that other ride of a year ago, when she had been borne swiftly through the darkness as though upon wings, when she had lain back exhausted in her corner and dreamed a strange, vivid dream, while Nap had sat upright beside her, alert, silent, inscrutable, plucking the gloves to tatters between his restless hands.

This monstrous war has been your greatest test, straining your moral fibre beyond even the ordeal of those days when your Republican armies fought in rags and tatters on the frontiers and swept across Europe to victories which drained your manhood.

There is no expression more worn to tatters than the word 'love;' one scarcely likes to use it; but between ourselves, I tell you; love in the general meaning, love in the individual sense does not permit of criticism.

A Chinese arose and tossed a handful of joss-tatters into the still air.

WELT Would I might mend the fabric of my youth That daily flaunts its tatters to my eyes, Would I might compromise awhile with truth Until our moon now waxing, wanes and dies.