I stretched out my hand to greet him, my heart suddenly soft on account of his venerability, & he, excruciatingly slowly withdrew his right arm from behind his back, as if it were handcuffed to his arse, or fastened to his pig-tail—& lo, had nothing to show for himself below the wrist, which was a perfect black-tarred stub.

(Kris Hemensley, Down Under)