Война миров
Dead London
Allaboutthepit,andsavedasbyamiraclefromeverlastingdestruction,stretchedthegreatMotherofCities. ThosewhohaveonlyseenLondonveiledinhersombrerobesofsmokecanscarcelyimaginethenakedclearnessandbeautyofthesilentwildernessofhouses.
Eastward,overtheblackenedruinsoftheAlbertTerraceandthesplinteredspireofthechurch,thesunblazeddazzlinginaclearsky, andhereandtheresomefacetinthegreatwildernessofroofscaughtthelightandglaredwithawhiteintensity.
NorthwardwereKilburnandHampsted,blueandcrowdedwithhouses; westwardthegreatcitywasdimmed; andsouthward,beyondtheMartians,thegreenwavesofRegent’sPark,theLanghamHotel,thedomeoftheAlbertHall,theImperialInstitute,andthegiantmansionsoftheBromptonRoadcameoutclearandlittleinthesunrise,thejaggedruinsofWestminsterrisinghazilybeyond. FarawayandblueweretheSurreyhills,andthetowersoftheCrystalPalaceglitteredliketwosilverrods. ThedomeofSt.Paul’swasdarkagainstthesunrise,andinjured,Isawforthefirsttime,byahugegapingcavityonitswesternside.
AndasIlookedatthiswideexpanseofhousesandfactoriesandchurches,silentandabandoned; asIthoughtofthemultitudinoushopesandefforts,theinnumerablehostsoflivesthathadgonetobuildthishumanreef,andoftheswiftandruthlessdestructionthathadhungoveritall; whenIrealisedthattheshadowhadbeenrolledback,andthatmenmightstillliveinthestreets,andthisdearvastdeadcityofminebeoncemorealiveandpowerful,Ifeltawaveofemotionthatwasnearakintotears.
