Caught in the barbs of the wire, wedged in, the bodies hung suspended.

Under foot it was terrible.

The black blood, winking in the starlight, seeped down into the clinkers between the ties with a prolonged sucking murmur.
Presley turned away, horror-struck, sick at heart, overwhelmed with a quick burst of irresistible compassion for this brute agony he could not relieve.

The sweetness was gone from the evening, the sense of peace, of security, and placid contentment was stricken from the landscape.

The hideous ruin in the engine's path drove all thought of his poem from his mind.