Война миров

           WithinfinitetroubleImanagedtobreakintoapublic-houseandgetfoodanddrink. Iwaswearyaftereating,andwentintotheparlourbehindthebar,andsleptonablackhorsehairsofaIfoundthere. 

           Iawoketofindthatdismalhowlingstillinmyears,"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla." Itwasnowdusk,andafterIhadroutedoutsomebiscuitsandacheeseinthebar—therewasameatsafe,butitcontainednothingbutmaggots —IwanderedonthroughthesilentresidentialsquarestoBakerStreet—PortmanSquareistheonlyoneIcanname—andsocameoutatlastuponRegent’sPark. AndasIemergedfromthetopofBakerStreet,IsawfarawayoverthetreesintheclearnessofthesunsetthehoodoftheMartiangiantfromwhichthishowlingproceeded. Iwasnotterrified. 

           Icameuponhimasifitwereamatterofcourse. Iwatchedhimforsometime,buthedidnotmove. Heappearedtobestandingandyelling,fornoreasonthatIcoulddiscover. 

           Itriedtoformulateaplanofaction. Thatperpetualsoundof"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla,"confusedmymind. PerhapsIwastootiredtobeveryfearful. CertainlyIwasmorecurioustoknowthereasonofthismonotonouscryingthanafraid. IturnedbackawayfromtheparkandstruckintoParkRoad,intendingtoskirtthepark,wentalongundertheshelteroftheterraces,andgotaviewofthisstationary,howlingMartianfromthedirectionofSt.John’sWood. AcoupleofhundredyardsoutofBakerStreetIheardayelpingchorus,andsaw,firstadogwithapieceofputrescentredmeatinhisjawscomingheadlongtowardsme,andthenapackofstarvingmongrelsinpursuitofhim. Hemadeawidecurvetoavoidme,asthoughhefearedImightproveafreshcompetitor. Astheyelpingdiedawaydownthesilentroad,thewailingsoundof"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla,"reasserteditself.