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- Джон Уиндем
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"
So
futile
to
have
lived
at
all
—
and
it
might
all
have
been
so
different
,
"
she
said
.
"
Good
-
by
,
Bill
—
and
thank
you
for
trying
to
help
us
.
"
I
looked
down
at
her
as
she
lay
.
I
felt
very
angry
with
the
stupidity
of
death
.
A
thousand
would
have
said
:
"
Take
me
with
you
"
;
but
she
had
said
:
"
Stay
with
us
.
"
And
I
never
even
knew
her
name
.
It
was
the
memory
of
the
redheaded
young
man
who
had
fired
on
us
that
conditioned
my
choice
of
a
route
to
Westminster
.
Since
I
was
sixteen
my
interest
in
weapons
has
decreased
,
but
in
an
environment
reverting
to
savagery
it
seemed
that
one
must
be
prepared
to
behave
more
or
less
as
a
savage
,
or
possibly
cease
to
behave
at
all
,
before
long
.
In
St
.
James
’
s
Street
there
used
to
be
several
shops
which
would
sell
you
any
form
of
lethalness
,
from
a
rook
rifle
to
an
elephant
gun
,
with
the
greatest
urbanity
.
I
left
there
with
a
mixed
feeling
of
support
and
banditry
.
Once
more
I
had
a
useful
hunting
knife
.
There
was
a
pistol
with
the
precise
workmanship
of
a
scientific
instrument
in
my
pocket
.
On
the
seat
beside
me
rested
a
loaded
twelve
-
bore
and
boxes
of
cartridges
.
I
had
chosen
a
shotgun
in
preference
to
a
rifle
—
the
bang
is
no
less
convincing
,
and
it
also
decapitates
a
triffid
with
a
neatness
which
a
bullet
seldom
achieves
.
And
there
were
triffids
to
be
seen
right
in
London
now
.
They
still
appeared
to
avoid
the
streets
when
they
could
,
but
I
had
noticed
several
lumbering
across
Hyde
Park
,
and
there
were
others
in
the
Green
Park
.
Very
likely
they
were
ornamental
,
safely
docked
specimens
—
on
the
other
hand
,
maybe
they
weren
’
t
.
And
so
I
came
to
Westminster
.
The
deadness
,
the
finish
of
it
all
,
was
italicized
there
.
The
usual
scatter
of
abandoned
vehicles
lay
about
the
streets
.
Very
few
people
were
about
—
I
saw
only
three
who
were
moving
.
Two
were
tapping
their
way
down
the
gutters
of
Whitehall
,
the
third
was
in
Parliament
Square
.
He
was
sitting
close
to
Lincoln
’
s
statue
and
clutching
to
him
his
dearest
possession
—
a
side
of
bacon
from
which
he
was
hacking
a
ragged
slice
with
a
blunt
knife
.
Above
it
all
rose
the
Houses
of
Parliament
,
with
the
hands
of
the
clock
stopped
at
three
minutes
past
six
.
It
was
difficult
to
believe
that
all
that
meant
nothing
any
more
,
that
it
was
now
just
a
pretentious
confection
in
uncertain
stone
which
would
decay
in
peace
.
Let
it
shower
its
crumbling
pinnacles
onto
the
terrace
as
it
would
—
there
would
be
no
more
indignant
members
complaining
of
the
risk
to
their
valuable
lives
.
Into
those
halls
which
had
in
their
day
set
world
echoes
to
good
intentions
and
sad
expediencies
the
roofs
could
,
in
due
course
,
fall
;
there
would
be
none
to
stop
them
,
and
none
to
care
.
Alongside
,
the
Thames
flowed
imperturbably
on
.
So
it
would
flow
until
the
day
the
Embankments
crumble
and
the
water
spread
out
and
Westminster
became
once
more
an
island
in
a
marsh
.
