combine these sentences

combine these sentences
It was in Burma,a morning of the rains.
The morning was sodden.
A sicklys light was slanting over the walls into the jail yard.
The light was like yellow tinfoil.
The walls were high.
We were waiting outside the condemned cells.
The cells were a row of sheds fronted with double bars,like small animal cages.
Each cell measured about ten feet by ten.
Each cell was quite bare within except for a plank bed and a pot of drinking water.
In some of them men were squatting at the inner bars.
The men were brown.
The men were silent.
The men were squatting with their blankets draped round them.
These were the condemned men.
They were due to be hanged within the next week or two.
One prisoner had been brought out of his cell.
He was a Hindu.
He was a puny wisp of a man.
He was a man with a shaven head and vague liquid eyes.
He had a moustache,absurdly too big for his body,rather like the moustache of a comic man on the films.
The moustache was thick.
The moustache was sprouting.
Six Indian warders were guarding him.
The warders were tall.
The warders were getting him ready for the gallows.
Two of them stood by with rifles and fixed bayonets.
The others handcuffed him.
The others passed a chain through his handcuffs and fixed it to their belts.
The others lashed his arms tight to his sides.
They crowded very close about him,with their hands always on him,as though all the while feeling him.
Their hands were always on him in a careful,caressing grip.
They were feeling him to make sure that he was there.
It was like men handling a fish.
The fish is still alive and may jump back into the water.
But he stood quite unresisting.
He yielded his arms limply to the ropes.
It was as though he hardly noticed what was happening.
Eight o'clock struck and a bugle call,thin in the air,floated from the barracks.
The bugle call was desolately thin.
The air was wet.
The barracks were distant.
The superintendent of the jail raised his head at the sound.
The superintendent was standing apart from the rest of us.
The superintendent was moodily prodding the gravel with his stick.
He was an army doctor.
He had a grey toothbrush moustache.
He had a gruff voice.

It was in Burma, a sodden morning of the rains.
A sicklys light like yellow tinfoil was slanting over the high walls into the jail yard.
We were waiting outside the condemned cells, which were a row of sheds fronted with double bars, like small animal cages.
Each cell measured about ten feet by ten and was quite bare within except for a plank bed and a pot of drinking water.
In some of them the brown and silent men were squatting at the inner bars with their blankets draped round them.
These were the condemned men who were due to be hanged within the next week or two.
One prisoner, a Hindu, a puny wisp of a man, with a shaven head and vague liquid eyes, had been brought out of his cell.
He had a thick and sprouting moustache, absurdly too big for his body, rather like the moustache of a comic man on the films.
Six tall Indian warders were guarding him, getting him ready for the gallows.
Two of them stood by with rifles and fixed bayonets, while the others handcuffed him, passed a chain through his handcuffs and fixed it to their belts, and lashed his arms tight to his sides.
They crowded very close about him, with their hands always on him, in a careful, caressing grip as though all the while feeling him, they were feeling him to make sure that he was there.
It was like men handling a fish which is still alive and may jump back into the water.
But he stood quite unresisting and yielded his arms limply to the ropes, as though he hardly noticed what was happening.
Eight o'clock struck and a desolately thin bugle call, thin in the wet air, floated from the distant barracks.
The superintendent of the jail raised his head at the sound, who stood apart from the rest of us and was moodily prodding the gravel with his stick.
He was an army doctor with a grey toothbrush mustache and in a gruff voice.
差不多了吧