"But his sitting there eating in that—that shirt—" said his sister.
Then he stopped, tore off his shirt, and ripped it with his right hand and his teeth into strips.
It's a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Donegal.
Diablo reached for him, and lifted the shirt clean off his back.
All right, then; that letter I wrote is a shirt, and the welkin's the ruffle on it.
His shirt and hand, and even his naked arm, were stained and blotched with blood.
The shirt was clotted with blood; so were the mattress under him and the floor.
I forced the shirt on him, however, as a sort of memorial of me.
She lifted one shirt after another, looking at them in silence.
I have had no breakfast, and Gerald couldn't find his shirt.
