Jean-Claude rose when he saw me; his white shirt was stained, torn on one sleeve.
Unshaven, his shirt stained, his mouth hanging open.
His hair was unkempt and his shirt stained with sweat.
The man stared sightlessly at Pendergast, white shirt stained a uniform red.
I was fully dressed, my black shirt stained, open to my hairless chest, jeans and bare feet.
He looked positively cadaverous, his white shirt stained with sweat and his smock dangling off his neck as if it were hanging on a hook.
Fuchs, shirt stained and reeking, lagged far behind.
His new shirt was stained and stinking, glued to his chest with sweat.
He'd been down on his luck back then, breeches dirty, shirt stained and boots inadequately patched.
Mulligan was a mess, his face mask smeared with dried blood, his white short-sleeved shirt stained too, big sweat patches coming out under the arms.
