Война миров
The Death of the Curate
ThenIheardtheslow,deliberatesoundcreepingtowardsmeagain. Slowly,slowlyitdrewnear,scratchingagainstthewallsandtappingthefurniture.
WhileIwasstilldoubtful,itrappedsmartlyagainstthecellardoorandclosedit. Ihearditgointothepantry,andthebiscuit-tinsrattledandabottlesmashed,andthencameaheavybumpagainstthecellardoor. Thensilencethatpassedintoaninfinityofsuspense.
Haditgone?
AtlastIdecidedthatithad.
Itcameintothescullerynomore; butIlayallthetenthdayintheclosedarkness,buriedamongcoalsandfirewood,notdaringeventocrawloutforthedrinkforwhichIcraved. ItwastheeleventhdaybeforeIventuredsofarfrommysecurity.
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