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- Герберт Уеллс
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- Война миров
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- Стр. 74/99
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The
arrival
of
a
second
fighting-machine
drove
us
from
our
peephole
into
the
scullery
,
for
we
feared
that
from
his
elevation
the
Martian
might
see
down
upon
us
behind
our
barrier
.
At
a
later
date
we
began
to
feel
less
in
danger
of
their
eyes
,
for
to
an
eye
in
the
dazzle
of
the
sunlight
outside
our
refuge
must
have
been
blank
blackness
,
but
at
first
the
slightest
suggestion
of
approach
drove
us
into
the
scullery
in
heart-throbbing
retreat
.
Yet
terrible
as
was
the
danger
we
incurred
,
the
attraction
of
peeping
was
for
both
of
us
irresistible
.
And
I
recall
now
with
a
sort
of
wonder
that
,
in
spite
of
the
infinite
danger
in
which
we
were
between
starvation
and
a
still
more
terrible
death
,
we
could
yet
struggle
bitterly
for
that
horrible
privilege
of
sight
.
We
would
race
across
the
kitchen
in
a
grotesque
way
between
eagerness
and
the
dread
of
making
a
noise
,
and
strike
each
other
,
and
thrust
add
kick
,
within
a
few
inches
of
exposure
.
The
fact
is
that
we
had
absolutely
incompatible
dispositions
and
habits
of
thought
and
action
,
and
our
danger
and
isolation
only
accentuated
the
incompatibility
.
At
Halliford
I
had
already
come
to
hate
the
curate
's
trick
of
helpless
exclamation
,
his
stupid
rigidity
of
mind
.
His
endless
muttering
monologue
vitiated
every
effort
I
made
to
think
out
a
line
of
action
,
and
drove
me
at
times
,
thus
pent
up
and
intensified
,
almost
to
the
verge
of
craziness
.
He
was
as
lacking
in
restraint
as
a
silly
woman
.
He
would
weep
for
hours
together
,
and
I
verily
believe
that
to
the
very
end
this
spoiled
child
of
life
thought
his
weak
tears
in
some
way
efficacious
.
And
I
would
sit
in
the
darkness
unable
to
keep
my
mind
off
him
by
reason
of
his
importunities
.
He
ate
more
than
I
did
,
and
it
was
in
vain
I
pointed
out
that
our
only
chance
of
life
was
to
stop
in
the
house
until
the
Martians
had
done
with
their
pit
,
that
in
that
long
patience
a
time
might
presently
come
when
we
should
need
food
.
He
ate
and
drank
impulsively
in
heavy
meals
at
long
intervals
.
He
slept
little
.
As
the
days
wore
on
,
his
utter
carelessness
of
any
consideration
so
intensified
our
distress
and
danger
that
I
had
,
much
as
I
loathed
doing
it
,
to
resort
to
threats
,
and
at
last
to
blows
.
That
brought
him
to
reason
for
a
time
.
But
he
was
one
of
those
weak
creatures
,
void
of
pride
,
timorous
,
anaemic
,
hateful
souls
,
full
of
shifty
cunning
,
who
face
neither
God
nor
man
,
who
face
not
even
themselves
.
It
is
disagreeable
for
me
to
recall
and
write
these
things
,
but
I
set
them
down
that
my
story
may
lack
nothing
.
Those
who
have
escaped
the
dark
and
terrible
aspects
of
life
will
find
my
brutality
,
my
flash
of
rage
in
our
final
tragedy
,
easy
enough
to
blame
;
for
they
know
what
is
wrong
as
well
as
any
,
but
not
what
is
possible
to
tortured
men
.
But
those
who
have
been
under
the
shadow
,
who
have
gone
down
at
last
to
elemental
things
,
will
have
a
wider
charity
.
And
while
within
we
fought
out
our
dark
,
dim
contest
of
whispers
,
snatched
food
and
drink
,
and
gripping
hands
and
blows
,
without
,
in
the
pitiless
sunlight
of
that
terrible
June
,
was
the
strange
wonder
,
the
unfamiliar
routine
of
the
Martians
in
the
pit
.
Let
me
return
to
those
first
new
experiences
of
mine
.
After
a
long
time
I
ventured
back
to
the
peephole
,
to
find
that
the
new-comers
had
been
reinforced
by
the
occupants
of
no
fewer
than
three
of
the
fighting-machines
.
These
last
had
brought
with
them
certain
fresh
appliances
that
stood
in
an
orderly
manner
about
the
cylinder
.
The
second
handling-machine
was
now
completed
,
and
was
busied
in
serving
one
of
the
novel
contrivances
the
big
machine
had
brought
.
This
was
a
body
resembling
a
milk
can
in
its
general
form
,
above
which
oscillated
a
pear-shaped
receptacle
,
and
from
which
a
stream
of
white
powder
flowed
into
a
circular
basin
below
.
The
oscillatory
motion
was
imparted
to
this
by
one
tentacle
of
the
handling-machine
.
With
two
spatulate
hands
the
handling-machine
was
digging
out
and
flinging
masses
of
clay
into
the
pear-shaped
receptacle
above
,
while
with
another
arm
it
periodically
opened
a
door
and
removed
rusty
and
blackened
clinkers
from
the
middle
part
of
the
machine
.
Another
steely
tentacle
directed
the
powder
from
the
basin
along
a
ribbed
channel
towards
some
receiver
that
was
hidden
from
me
by
the
mound
of
bluish
dust
.
From
this
unseen
receiver
a
little
thread
of
green
smoke
rose
vertically
into
the
quiet
air
.
As
I
looked
,
the
handling-machine
,
with
a
faint
and
musical
clinking
,
extended
,
telescopic
fashion
,
a
tentacle
that
had
been
a
moment
before
a
mere
blunt
projection
,
until
its
end
was
hidden
behind
the
mound
of
clay
.
In
another
second
it
had
lifted
a
bar
of
white
aluminium
into
sight
,
untarnished
as
yet
,
and
shining
dazzlingly
,
and
deposited
it
in
a
growing
stack
of
bars
that
stood
at
the
side
of
the
pit
.
Between
sunset
and
starlight
this
dexterous
machine
must
have
made
more
than
a
hundred
such
bars
out
of
the
crude
clay
,
and
the
mound
of
bluish
dust
rose
steadily
until
it
topped
the
side
of
the
pit
.
The
contrast
between
the
swift
and
complex
movements
of
these
contrivances
and
the
inert
panting
clumsiness
of
their
masters
was
acute
,
and
for
days
I
had
to
tell
myself
repeatedly
that
these
latter
were
indeed
the
living
of
the
two
things
.
The
curate
had
possession
of
the
slit
when
the
first
men
were
brought
to
the
pit
.
I
was
sitting
below
,
huddled
up
,
listening
with
all
my
ears
.
