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VII . HOW I REACHED HOME . For my own part , I remember nothing of my flight except the stress of blundering against trees and stumbling through the heather . All about me gathered the invisible terrors of the Martians ; that pitiless sword of heat seemed whirling to and fro , flourishing overhead before it descended and smote me out of life . I came into the road between the crossroads and Horsell , and ran along this to the crossroads . At last I could go no further ; I was exhausted with the violence of my emotion and of my flight , and I staggered and fell by the wayside . That was near the bridge that crosses the canal by the gasworks . I fell and lay still . I must have remained there some time . I sat up , strangely perplexed . For a moment , perhaps , I could not clearly understand how I came there . My terror had fallen from me like a garment . My hat had gone , and my collar had burst away from its fastener . A few minutes before , there had only been three real things before me — the immensity of the night and space and nature , my own feebleness and anguish , and the near approach of death . Now it was as if something turned over , and the point of view altered abruptly . There was no sensible transition from one state of mind to the other . I was immediately the self of every day again — a decent , ordinary citizen . The silent common , the impulse of my flight , the starting flames , were as if they had been in a dream . I asked myself had these latter things indeed happened ? I could not credit it . I rose and walked unsteadily up the steep incline of the bridge . My mind was blank wonder . My muscles and nerves seemed drained of their strength . I dare say I staggered drunkenly . A head rose over the arch , and the figure of a workman carrying a basket appeared . Beside him ran a little boy . He passed me , wishing me good night . I was minded to speak to him , but did not . I answered his greeting with a meaningless mumble and went on over the bridge . Over the Maybury arch a train , a billowing tumult of white , firelit smoke , and a long caterpillar of lighted windows , went flying south — clatter , clatter , clap , rap , and it had gone . A dim group of people talked in the gate of one of the houses in the pretty little row of gables that was called Oriental Terrace . It was all so real and so familiar . And that behind me ! It was frantic , fantastic ! Such things , I told myself , could not be .
Назад Сторінка 17 з 121 Сторінка 17 з 121 Вперед Читайте далі з перекладом Створіть безкоштовний акаунт: 7 днів Pro, далі 20 перекладів слів на день або платний тариф.
