Перші люди на Місяці
Chapter 19 — Mr. Bedford Alone
Iwasonthemanholelip,astupefied,half-deadbeing.Thesnowwasallaboutme.Ipulledmyselfin.Therelurkedwithinalittlewarmerair.
Thesnowflakes—theairflakes—dancedinaboutme,asItriedwithchillinghandstothrustthevalveinandspunittightandhard.Isobbed.“Iwill,”Ichatteredinmyteeth.Andthen,withfingersthatquiveredandfeltbrittle,Iturnedtotheshutterstuds.
AsIfumbledwiththeswitches—forIhadnevercontrolledthembefore—Icouldseedimlythroughthesteamingglasstheblazingredstreamersofthesinkingsun,dancingandflickeringthroughthesnowstorm,andtheblackformsofthescrubthickeningandbendingandbreakingbeneaththeaccumulatingsnow.Thickerwhirledthesnowandthicker,blackagainstthelight.Whatifevennowtheswitchesovercameme?Thensomethingclickedundermyhands,andinaninstantthatlastvisionofthemoonworldwashiddenfrommyeyes.Iwasinthesilenceanddarknessoftheinter-planetarysphere.
