Война миров
How I Fell in with the Curate
Isatup,andattherustleofmymotionhelookedatmequickly.
"Haveyouanywater?"Iaskedabruptly.
Heshookhishead.
"Youhavebeenaskingforwaterforthelasthour,"hesaid.
Foramomentweweresilent,takingstockofeachother. Idaresayhefoundmeastrangeenoughfigure,naked,saveformywater-soakedtrousersandsocks,scalded,andmyfaceandshouldersblackenedbythesmoke. Hisfacewasafairweakness,hischinretreated,andhishairlayincrisp,almostflaxencurlsonhislowforehead;hiseyeswereratherlarge,paleblue,andblanklystaring. Hespokeabruptly,lookingvacantlyawayfromme.
"Whatdoesitmean?"hesaid."Whatdothesethingsmean?"
Istaredathimandmadenoanswer.
Heextendedathinwhitehandandspokeinalmostacomplainingtone.
"Whyarethesethingspermitted?Whatsinshavewedone? Themorningservicewasover,Iwaswalkingthroughtheroadstoclearmybrainfortheafternoon,andthen—fire,earthquake,death! AsifitwereSodomandGomorrah!Allourworkundone,allthework——WhataretheseMartians?"
"Whatarewe?"Ianswered,clearingmythroat.
Hegrippedhiskneesandturnedtolookatmeagain. Forhalfaminute,perhaps,hestaredsilently.
