ABBOT DWIGHT HOWARD and Windsor Abbey's only rampart, its temple, is just a yard behind us when we spot the first of many evils spoken of in the letter. It is a corpse, flayed and halfburnt, and missing a huge chunk in it's midriff. The intestines spill forth in ghastly pallor. With the horrible burns and missing skin, it's hard to say if this was a man or woman. The entire left half of the face is shorn to the skull. This body looks as if it had been in Hiroshima when the nukes dropped. One dead eye is popped out, hanging limply by the scarred side of what remains of a face. The horror of a corpse is held up by a wooden stake shoved right through its neck and out a gaping mouth. It's tongue is nowhere to be found.
The sight is so sick. So vile. If I had taken so much as a mug of tea before hurrying out this morning I would have been retching it all out the carriage's window. Am I glad I skipped breakfast?