Война миров
The Man On Putney Hill
AlltherestofLondonwasblack. Then,nearer,Iperceivedastrangelight,apale,violet-purplefluorescentglow,quiveringunderthenightbreeze. ForaspaceIcouldnotunderstandit,andthenIknewthatitmustbetheredweedfromwhichthisfaintirradiationproceeded. Withthatrealisationmydormantsenseofwonder,mysenseoftheproportionofthings,awokeagain. IglancedfromthattoMars,redandclear,glowinghighinthewest,andthengazedlongandearnestlyatthedarknessofHampsteadandHighgate.
Iremainedaverylongtimeupontheroof,wonderingatthegrotesquechangesoftheday. Irecalledmymentalstatesfromthemidnightprayertothefoolishcard-playing. Ihadaviolentrevulsionoffeeling. IrememberIflungawaythecigarwithacertainwastefulsymbolism. Myfollycametomewithglaringexaggeration. Iseemedatraitortomywifeandtomykind; Iwasfilledwithremorse. Iresolvedtoleavethisstrangeundisciplineddreamerofgreatthingstohisdrinkandgluttony,andtogoonintoLondon. There,itseemedtome,IhadthebestchanceoflearningwhattheMartiansandmyfellowmenweredoing. Iwasstillupontheroofwhenthelatemoonrose.
