This face represented a different Bain, showed all that was human in him fading, fading as swiftly as it blanched white.
The lips wanted to speak, but had not the power.

The eyes held an agony of thought.

They revealed what might have been possible for this man if he lived--that he saw his mistake too late.

Then they rolled, set blankly, and closed in death.
That haunting visitation left Duane sitting there in a cold sweat, a remorse gnawing at his vitals, realizing the curse that was on him.
He divined that never would he be able to keep off that phantom.

He remembered how his father had been eternally pursued by the furies of accusing guilt, how he had never been able to forget in work or in sleep those men he had killed.
The hour was late when Duane's mind let him sleep, and then dreams troubled him.