Война миров

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. 

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