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- Герберт Уеллс
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- Война миров
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- Стр. 16/99
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"
They
can
scarcely
move
,
"
I
said
.
I
began
to
comfort
her
and
myself
by
repeating
all
that
Ogilvy
had
told
me
of
the
impossibility
of
the
Martians
establishing
themselves
on
the
earth
.
In
particular
I
laid
stress
on
the
gravitational
difficulty
.
On
the
surface
of
the
earth
the
force
of
gravity
is
three
times
what
it
is
on
the
surface
of
Mars
.
A
Martian
,
therefore
,
would
weigh
three
times
more
than
on
Mars
,
albeit
his
muscular
strength
would
be
the
same
.
His
own
body
would
be
a
cope
of
lead
to
him
.
That
,
indeed
,
was
the
general
opinion
.
Both
The
Times
and
the
Daily
Telegraph
,
for
instance
,
insisted
on
it
the
next
morning
,
and
both
overlooked
,
just
as
I
did
,
two
obvious
modifying
influences
.
The
atmosphere
of
the
earth
,
we
now
know
,
contains
far
more
oxygen
or
far
less
argon
(
whichever
way
one
likes
to
put
it
)
than
does
Mars
.
The
invigorating
influences
of
this
excess
of
oxygen
upon
the
Martians
indisputably
did
much
to
counterbalance
the
increased
weight
of
their
bodies
.
And
,
in
the
second
place
,
we
all
overlooked
the
fact
that
such
mechanical
intelligence
as
the
Martian
possessed
was
quite
able
to
dispense
with
muscular
exertion
at
a
pinch
.
But
I
did
not
consider
these
points
at
the
time
,
and
so
my
reasoning
was
dead
against
the
chances
of
the
invaders
.
With
wine
and
food
,
the
confidence
of
my
own
table
,
and
the
necessity
of
reassuring
my
wife
,
I
grew
by
insensible
degrees
courageous
and
secure
.
"
They
have
done
a
foolish
thing
,
"
said
I
,
fingering
my
wineglass
.
"
They
are
dangerous
because
,
no
doubt
,
they
are
mad
with
terror
.
Perhaps
they
expected
to
find
no
living
things
--
certainly
no
intelligent
living
things
.
"
"
A
shell
in
the
pit
"
said
I
,
"
if
the
worst
comes
to
the
worst
will
kill
them
all
.
"
The
intense
excitement
of
the
events
had
no
doubt
left
my
perceptive
powers
in
a
state
of
erethism
.
I
remember
that
dinner
table
with
extraordinary
vividness
even
now
.
My
dear
wife
's
sweet
anxious
face
peering
at
me
from
under
the
pink
lamp
shade
,
the
white
cloth
with
its
silver
and
glass
table
furniture
--
for
in
those
days
even
philosophical
writers
had
many
little
luxuries
--
the
crimson-purple
wine
in
my
glass
,
are
photographically
distinct
.
At
the
end
of
it
I
sat
,
tempering
nuts
with
a
cigarette
,
regretting
Ogilvy
's
rashness
,
and
denouncing
the
shortsighted
timidity
of
the
Martians
.
So
some
respectable
dodo
in
the
Mauritius
might
have
lorded
it
in
his
nest
,
and
discussed
the
arrival
of
that
shipful
of
pitiless
sailors
in
want
of
animal
food
.
"
We
will
peck
them
to
death
tomorrow
,
my
dear
.
"
I
did
not
know
it
,
but
that
was
the
last
civilised
dinner
I
was
to
eat
for
very
many
strange
and
terrible
days
.
