Idriis watched the face float in the vat. It looked very large and ghostly, a great white flower tattering and dissolving in the milky green. Long dead, the body still seemed to gurgle in the lacteal haze of the lye. The eyes washed a pale, blind blue; the lips rusted acidic yellow. It had the glazed, white, innocent look of an ancient figure in marble, staring stupidly with no pupils in a dream that was somewhere in its cold head. Idriis felt some black sickness rise in his throat. He clutched the cool, dark mint to his face to shield his mind from the horrible yellow, flesh, smoke smell of the tanneries. His work was done.