They lay as if paralyzed by what they had done. Congealed in sin, frozen with delight. Charles--no gentle postcoital sadness for him, but an immediate and universal horror--was like a city struck out of a quiet sky by an atom bomb. All lay razed; all principle, all future, all faith, all honorable intent. Yet he survived, he lay in the sweetest possession of his life, . . . but already the radioactivity of guilt crept, crept through his nerves and veins.