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He
thought
,
his
hands
hanging
over
his
knees
.
He
peered
through
the
glass
and
then
stared
at
me
.
"
Good
Lord
!
"
he
said
.
"
No
!
"
"
What
has
happened
?
"
I
asked
after
a
pause
.
"
Have
we
jumped
to
the
tropics
?
"
"
It
was
as
I
expected
.
This
air
has
evaporated
--
if
it
is
air
.
At
any
rate
,
it
has
evaporated
,
and
the
surface
of
the
moon
is
showing
.
We
are
lying
on
a
bank
of
earthy
rock
.
Here
and
there
bare
soil
is
exposed
.
A
queer
sort
of
soil
!
"
It
occurred
to
him
that
it
was
unnecessary
to
explain
.
He
assisted
me
into
a
sitting
position
,
and
I
could
see
with
my
own
eyes
.
The
harsh
emphasis
,
the
pitiless
black
and
white
of
scenery
had
altogether
disappeared
.
The
glare
of
the
sun
had
taken
upon
itself
a
faint
tinge
of
amber
;
the
shadows
upon
the
cliff
of
the
crater
wall
were
deeply
purple
.
To
the
eastward
a
dark
bank
of
fog
still
crouched
and
sheltered
from
the
sunrise
,
but
to
the
westward
the
sky
was
blue
and
clear
.
I
began
to
realise
the
length
of
my
insensibility
.
We
were
no
longer
in
a
void
.
An
atmosphere
had
arisen
about
us
.
The
outline
of
things
had
gained
in
character
,
had
grown
acute
and
varied
;
save
for
a
shadowed
space
of
white
substance
here
and
there
,
white
substance
that
was
no
longer
air
but
snow
,
the
arctic
appearance
had
gone
altogether
.
Everywhere
broad
rusty
brown
spaces
of
bare
and
tumbled
earth
spread
to
the
blaze
of
the
sun
.
Here
and
there
at
the
edge
of
the
snowdrifts
were
transient
little
pools
and
eddies
of
water
,
the
only
things
stirring
in
that
expanse
of
barrenness
.
The
sunlight
inundated
the
upper
two
blinds
of
our
sphere
and
turned
our
climate
to
high
summer
,
but
our
feet
were
still
in
shadow
,
and
the
sphere
was
lying
upon
a
drift
of
snow
.
And
scattered
here
and
there
upon
the
slope
,
and
emphasised
by
little
white
threads
of
unthawed
snow
upon
their
shady
sides
,
were
shapes
like
sticks
,
dry
twisted
sticks
of
the
same
rusty
hue
as
the
rock
upon
which
they
lay
.
That
caught
one
's
thoughts
sharply
.
Sticks
!
On
a
lifeless
world
?
Then
as
my
eye
grew
more
accustomed
to
the
texture
of
their
substance
,
I
perceived
that
almost
all
this
surface
had
a
fibrous
texture
,
like
the
carpet
of
brown
needles
one
finds
beneath
the
shade
of
pine
trees
.
"
Cavor
!
"
I
said
.
"
Yes
.
"
"
It
may
be
a
dead
world
now
--
but
once
--
"
