the reverend , whose body remained more or less intact , had captured our attention as the locus of the slaughter , but all around it , like shards thrown from a grisly centrifuge , upon the walls and floorboards and even the ceiling above our heads , were fragments and scraps of human flesh , unrecognizable effluvia cemented by blood to nearly every surface : tufts of hair , bits of entrails , splinters of bone , shavings of muscle .