Війна світів
The Heat-Ray
Overheadthestarsweremustering,andinthewesttheskywasstillapale,bright,almostgreenishblue. ThetopsofthepinetreesandtheroofsofHorsellcameoutsharpandblackagainstthewesternafterglow. TheMartiansandtheirapplianceswerealtogetherinvisible,saveforthatthinmastuponwhichtheirrestlessmirrorwobbled. Patchesofbushandisolatedtreeshereandtheresmokedandglowedstill,andthehousestowardsWokingstationweresendingupspiresofflameintothestillnessoftheeveningair.
Nothingwaschangedsaveforthatandaterribleastonishment. Thelittlegroupofblackspeckswiththeflagofwhitehadbeensweptoutofexistence,andthestillnessoftheevening,soitseemedtome,hadscarcelybeenbroken.
ItcametomethatIwasuponthisdarkcommon,helpless,unprotected,andalone. Suddenly,likeathingfallinguponmefromwithout,came—fear.
WithaneffortIturnedandbeganastumblingrunthroughtheheather.
ThefearIfeltwasnorationalfear,butapanicterrornotonlyoftheMartians,butoftheduskandstillnessallaboutme. SuchanextraordinaryeffectinunmanningmeithadthatIranweepingsilentlyasachildmightdo. OnceIhadturned,Ididnotdaretolookback.
IrememberIfeltanextraordinarypersuasionthatIwasbeingplayedwith,thatpresently,whenIwasupontheveryvergeofsafety,thismysteriousdeath—asswiftasthepassageoflight—wouldleapaftermefromthepitaboutthecylinderandstrikemedown.
