1 The hospitals were filled with dirty, bewhiskered, verminous men who smelled terribly and bore on their bodies wounds hideous enough to turn a Christian's stomach.
2 War is a dirty business and I do not like dirt.
3 She was looking at the dirty handkerchief, and humiliation and fury were filling her.
4 And they were new, not ragged, with dirty bare flesh and hairy legs showing through.
5 The state militia who had gone out so short a time before, resplendent in new uniforms, could hardly be distinguished from the seasoned troops, so dirty and unkempt were they.
6 Draw water, serve food, lay pillows on the front porch, bind wounds, hold the dirty heads of the dying.
7 The skin of his pink fat face hung down in loose folds like the dewlaps of a bulldog and his long white hair was indescribably dirty.
8 Everywhere, swarms of flies hovered over the men, crawling and buzzing in their faces, everywhere was blood, dirty bandages, groans, screamed curses of pain as stretcher bearers lifted men.
9 They fell over the dirty face of a wounded man who feebly tried to turn his head to escape from their smothering folds.
10 There seemed thousands of them, bearded, dirty, their guns slung over their shoulders, swiftly passing at route step.
11 Many were barefooted and here and there a dirty bandage wrapped a head or arm.
12 She felt dirty and messy and sticky, almost as if she smelled bad.
13 Yet here she was exposed to the sun in a broken-down wagon with a broken-down horse, dirty, sweaty, hungry, helpless to do anything but plod along at a snail's pace through a deserted land.
14 Somewhere a barefoot army in dirty homespun was marching, fighting, sleeping, hungry and weary with the weariness that comes when hope is gone.
15 There it lay in this stranger's calloused dirty palm and soon it would find its way North and onto the finger of some Yankee woman who would be proud to wear stolen things.