at the foot of the tree , on the ground , the rain had made the sheet partly transparent , and had lifted it and pushed it forward so that shadow could see wednesday 's dead hand , waxy and pale , and the shape of his head , and he thought of the shroud of turin and he remembered the open girl on jacquel 's table in cairo , and then , as if to spite the cold , he observed that he was feeling warm and comfortable , and the bark of the tree felt soft , and he slept once more , and if he dreamed any dreams this time he could not remember them .