Війна світів
At the Window
Theyseemedamazinglybusy. Ibegantoaskmyselfwhattheycouldbe. Weretheyintelligentmechanisms? SuchathingIfeltwasimpossible. OrdidaMartiansitwithineach,ruling,directing,using,muchasaman’sbrainsitsandrulesinhisbody? Ibegantocomparethethingstohumanmachines,toaskmyselfforthefirsttimeinmylifehowanironcladorasteamenginewouldseemtoanintelligentloweranimal.
Thestormhadlefttheskyclear,andoverthesmokeoftheburninglandthelittlefadingpinpointofMarswasdroppingintothewest,whenasoldiercameintomygarden. Iheardaslightscrapingatthefence,androusingmyselffromthelethargythathadfallenuponme,Ilookeddownandsawhimdimly,clamberingoverthepalings. Atthesightofanotherhumanbeingmytorporpassed,andIleanedoutofthewindoweagerly.
"Hist!"saidI,inawhisper.
Hestoppedastrideofthefenceindoubt. Thenhecameoverandacrossthelawntothecornerofthehouse.Hebentdownandsteppedsoftly.
"Who’sthere?"hesaid,alsowhispering,standingunderthewindowandpeeringup.
"Whereareyougoing?"Iasked.
"Godknows."
"Areyoutryingtohide?"
"That’sit."
"Comeintothehouse,"Isaid.
