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Updated: May 12, 2025
There, in that inner office, half-rising from the wrack of many things that had been and were now no more, her startled eyes beheld the figure of a man of Allan Stern! He lived! At her he peered with eyes that saw not, yet; toward her he groped a vague, unsteady hand. He lived! Not quite alone in this world-ruin, not all alone was she!
A well-known writer declares: "It is a paradox of chaos and repose, of gloom and radiance, of immeasurable desolation and enthralling beauty. It is a despair and a joy; a woe and an ecstasy; a requiem and a hallelujah; a world-ruin and a world-glory everything in antithesis of such titanic sort." I agree with him, and regard his expressions as indicative of my own sensations.
Garish now, and doubly terrible, since seen with more than double clearness by the graying dawn, the world-ruin seemed to him. Strong of body and of nerve as he was, he could not help but shudder at the numberless traces of sudden and pitiless death which met his gaze.
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