re of radiant destruction that only time could quench, that indeed
in many instances time has still to quench. To this day, though indeed
with a constantly diminishing uproar and vigour, these explosions
continue. In the map of nearly every country of the world three or four
or more red circles, a score of miles in diameter, mark the position of
the dying atomic bombs and the death areas that men have been forced to
abandon around them. Within these areas perished museums, cathedrals,
palaces, libraries, galleries of masterpieces, and a vast accumulation
of human achievement, whose charred remains lie buried, a legacy of
curious material that only future generations may hope to examine....

Section 4

The state of mind of the dispossessed urban population which swarmed and
perished so abundantly over the country-side during the dark days of the
autumnal months that followed the Last War, was one of blank despair.
Barnet gives sketch after sketch of groups of these people, camped among
the vineyards of Champagne, as he saw them during his period of service
with the army of pacification.

There was, for example, that 'man-milliner' who came out from a field
beside the road that rises up eastward out of Epernay, and asked how
things were going in Paris. He was, says Barnet, a round-faced man,
dressed very neatly in black--so neatly that it was amazing to discover
he was living close at hand in a tent made of carpets--and he had 'an
urbane but insistent manner,' a carefully trimmed moustache and beard,
expressive eyebrows, and hair very neatly brushed.

'No one goes into Paris,' said Barnet.

'But, Monsieur, that is very unenterprising,' the man by the wayside
submitted.

'The danger is too great. The radiations eat into people's skins.'

The eyebrows protested. 'But is nothing to be done?'

'Nothing can be done.'

'But, Monsieur, it is extraordinarily inconvenient, this living in exile
and waiting. My wife and my little boy suffer extremely. There is a lack
of amenity. And the season advances. I say nothing of the expense and
difficulty in obtaining provisions. . . . When does Monsieur think that
something will be done to render Paris--possible?'

Barnet considered his interlocutor.

'I'm told,' said Barnet, 'that Paris is not likely to be possible again
for several generations.'

'Oh! but this is preposterous! Consider, Monsieur! What are people like
ourselves to do in the meanwhile? I am a costumier. All my