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An old house—yes, I like old houses, but this is like a whited sepulchre, somehow.

Who would suspect, to see him, that that black coat of his was buttoned round a whited sepulchre?

Instead of the full, pulpy feeling of youth tasting existence and every object in it, all is flat and vapid,—a whited sepulchre, fair without but full of ravening and all uncleanness within.

He told them that they were “whited sepulchres” and “fools.”

The error is repeated in the mention of whited sepulchres.