Now, for a man to whom courage is habitual, the taste of fear--naked, utter fear--is a horrible thing.

It seems to wash away all his manhood.

Peter lay on the crest, watching the shells burst, and confident that any moment he might be a shattered remnant.

He lay and reasoned with himself, calling himself every name he could think of, but conscious that nothing would get rid of that lump of ice below his heart.
Then he could stand it no longer.

He got up and ran for his life.
But he ran forward.
It was the craziest performance.