The hall was filled with kneeling people.
They were clad in rags, practically naked, the tattered cloth caked with dark-red dust and suspicious stains.
Each was skeletal, their eye sockets as deep as caves. Their faces and exposed skin were covered with the ravages of overwork, old wounds, and the sallow, bloated complexion of malnutrition.
Their eyes were cloudy and numb; only in their depths still burned a tiny, flickering flame named 'survival,' threatening to go out at any moment.
The scene was strikingly similar to what Murphy remembered of the destitute peasants in the Duval Territory—people exploited to their limits, teetering on the brink of death. In fact, this was even more miserable and desperate.
At the very front of the crowd knelt an elder who, though just as emaciated, wore a slightly more intact, tattered gray robe.
