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- Герберт Уеллс
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- Война миров
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- Стр. 82/99
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All
this
time
I
saw
no
human
beings
,
and
no
signs
of
the
Martians
.
I
encountered
a
couple
of
hungry-looking
dogs
,
but
both
hurried
circuitously
away
from
the
advances
I
made
them
.
Near
Roehampton
I
had
seen
two
human
skeletons
--
not
bodies
,
but
skeletons
,
picked
clean
--
and
in
the
wood
by
me
I
found
the
crushed
and
scattered
bones
of
several
cats
and
rabbits
and
the
skull
of
a
sheep
.
But
though
I
gnawed
parts
of
these
in
my
mouth
,
there
was
nothing
to
be
got
from
them
.
After
sunset
I
struggled
on
along
the
road
towards
Putney
,
where
I
think
the
Heat-Ray
must
have
been
used
for
some
reason
.
And
in
the
garden
beyond
Roehampton
I
got
a
quantity
of
immature
potatoes
,
sufficient
to
stay
my
hunger
.
From
this
garden
one
looked
down
upon
Putney
and
the
river
.
The
aspect
of
the
place
in
the
dusk
was
singularly
desolate
:
blackened
trees
,
blackened
,
desolate
ruins
,
and
down
the
hill
the
sheets
of
the
flooded
river
,
red-tinged
with
the
weed
.
And
over
all
--
silence
.
It
filled
me
with
indescribable
terror
to
think
how
swiftly
that
desolating
change
had
come
.
For
a
time
I
believed
that
mankind
had
been
swept
out
of
existence
,
and
that
I
stood
there
alone
,
the
last
man
left
alive
.
Hard
by
the
top
of
Putney
Hill
I
came
upon
another
skeleton
,
with
the
arms
dislocated
and
removed
several
yards
from
the
rest
of
the
body
.
As
I
proceeded
I
became
more
and
more
convinced
that
the
extermination
of
mankind
was
,
save
for
such
stragglers
as
myself
,
already
accomplished
in
this
part
of
the
world
.
The
Martians
,
I
thought
,
had
gone
on
and
left
the
country
desolated
,
seeking
food
elsewhere
.
Perhaps
even
now
they
were
destroying
Berlin
or
Paris
,
or
it
might
be
they
had
gone
northward
.
I
spent
that
night
in
the
inn
that
stands
at
the
top
of
Putney
Hill
,
sleeping
in
a
made
bed
for
the
first
time
since
my
flight
to
Leatherhead
.
I
will
not
tell
the
needless
trouble
I
had
breaking
into
that
house
--
afterwards
I
found
the
front
door
was
on
the
latch
--
nor
how
I
ransacked
every
room
for
food
,
until
just
on
the
verge
of
despair
,
in
what
seemed
to
me
to
be
a
servant
's
bedroom
,
I
found
a
rat-gnawed
crust
and
two
tins
of
pineapple
.
The
place
had
been
already
searched
and
emptied
.
In
the
bar
I
afterwards
found
some
biscuits
and
sandwiches
that
had
been
overlooked
.
The
latter
I
could
not
eat
,
they
were
too
rotten
,
but
the
former
not
only
stayed
my
hunger
,
but
filled
my
pockets
.
I
lit
no
lamps
,
fearing
some
Martian
might
come
beating
that
part
of
London
for
food
in
the
night
.
Before
I
went
to
bed
I
had
an
interval
of
restlessness
,
and
prowled
from
window
to
window
,
peering
out
for
some
sign
of
these
monsters
.
I
slept
little
.
As
I
lay
in
bed
I
found
myself
thinking
consecutively
--
a
thing
I
do
not
remember
to
have
done
since
my
last
argument
with
the
curate
.
During
all
the
intervening
time
my
mental
condition
had
been
a
hurrying
succession
of
vague
emotional
states
or
a
sort
of
stupid
receptivity
.
But
in
the
night
my
brain
,
reinforced
,
I
suppose
,
by
the
food
I
had
eaten
,
grew
clear
again
,
and
I
thought
.
Three
things
struggled
for
possession
of
my
mind
:
the
killing
of
the
curate
,
the
whereabouts
of
the
Martians
,
and
the
possible
fate
of
my
wife
.
The
former
gave
me
no
sensation
of
horror
or
remorse
to
recall
;
I
saw
it
simply
as
a
thing
done
,
a
memory
infinitely
disagreeable
but
quite
without
the
quality
of
remorse
.
I
saw
myself
then
as
I
see
myself
now
,
driven
step
by
step
towards
that
hasty
blow
,
the
creature
of
a
sequence
of
accidents
leading
inevitably
to
that
.
I
felt
no
condemnation
;
yet
the
memory
,
static
,
unprogressive
,
haunted
me
.
In
the
silence
of
the
night
,
with
that
sense
of
the
nearness
of
God
that
sometimes
comes
into
the
stillness
and
the
darkness
,
I
stood
my
trial
,
my
only
trial
,
for
that
moment
of
wrath
and
fear
.
I
retraced
every
step
of
our
conversation
from
the
moment
when
I
had
found
him
crouching
beside
me
,
heedless
of
my
thirst
,
and
pointing
to
the
fire
and
smoke
that
streamed
up
from
the
ruins
of
Weybridge
.
We
had
been
incapable
of
co-operation
--
grim
chance
had
taken
no
heed
of
that
.
Had
I
foreseen
,
I
should
have
left
him
at
Halliford
.
But
I
did
not
foresee
;
and
crime
is
to
foresee
and
do
.
And
I
set
this
down
as
I
have
set
all
this
story
down
,
as
it
was
.
There
were
no
witnesses
--
all
these
things
I
might
have
concealed
.
But
I
set
it
down
,
and
the
reader
must
form
his
judgment
as
he
will
.
And
when
,
by
an
effort
,
I
had
set
aside
that
picture
of
a
prostrate
body
,
I
faced
the
problem
of
the
Martians
and
the
fate
of
my
wife
.
For
the
former
I
had
no
data
;
I
could
imagine
a
hundred
things
,
and
so
,
unhappily
,
I
could
for
the
latter
.
And
suddenly
that
night
became
terrible
.
I
found
myself
sitting
up
in
bed
,
staring
at
the
dark
.
I
found
myself
praying
that
the
Heat-Ray
might
have
suddenly
and
painlessly
struck
her
out
of
being
.
Since
the
night
of
my
return
from
Leatherhead
I
had
not
prayed
.
I
had
uttered
prayers
,
fetish
prayers
,
had
prayed
as
heathens
mutter
charms
when
I
was
in
extremity
;
but
now
I
prayed
indeed
,
pleading
steadfastly
and
sanely
,
face
to
face
with
the
darkness
of
God
.
Strange
night
!
Strangest
in
this
,
that
so
soon
as
dawn
had
come
,
I
,
who
had
talked
with
God
,
crept
out
of
the
house
like
a
rat
leaving
its
hiding
place
--
a
creature
scarcely
larger
,
an
inferior
animal
,
a
thing
that
for
any
passing
whim
of
our
masters
might
be
hunted
and
killed
.
Perhaps
they
also
prayed
confidently
to
God
.
Surely
,
if
we
have
learned
nothing
else
,
this
war
has
taught
us
pity
--
pity
for
those
witless
souls
that
suffer
our
dominion
.
The
morning
was
bright
and
fine
,
and
the
eastern
sky
glowed
pink
,
and
was
fretted
with
little
golden
clouds
.
In
the
road
that
runs
from
the
top
of
Putney
Hill
to
Wimbledon
was
a
number
of
poor
vestiges
of
the
panic
torrent
that
must
have
poured
Londonward
on
the
Sunday
night
after
the
fighting
began
.
There
was
a
little
two-wheeled
cart
inscribed
with
the
name
of
Thomas
Lobb
,
Greengrocer
,
New
Malden
,
with
a
smashed
wheel
and
an
abandoned
tin
trunk
;
there
was
a
straw
hat
trampled
into
the
now
hardened
mud
,
and
at
the
top
of
West
Hill
a
lot
of
blood-stained
glass
about
the
overturned
water
trough
.
My
movements
were
languid
,
my
plans
of
the
vaguest
.
I
had
an
idea
of
going
to
Leatherhead
,
though
I
knew
that
there
I
had
the
poorest
chance
of
finding
my
wife
.
Certainly
,
unless
death
had
overtaken
them
suddenly
,
my
cousins
and
she
would
have
fled
thence
;
but
it
seemed
to
me
I
might
find
or
learn
there
whither
the
Surrey
people
had
fled
.
I
knew
I
wanted
to
find
my
wife
,
that
my
heart
ached
for
her
and
the
world
of
men
,
but
I
had
no
clear
idea
how
the
finding
might
be
done
.
I
was
also
sharply
aware
now
of
my
intense
loneliness
.
From
the
corner
I
went
,
under
cover
of
a
thicket
of
trees
and
bushes
,
to
the
edge
of
Wimbledon
Common
,
stretching
wide
and
far
.
That
dark
expanse
was
lit
in
patches
by
yellow
gorse
and
broom
;
there
was
no
red
weed
to
be
seen
,
and
as
I
prowled
,
hesitating
,
on
the
verge
of
the
open
,
the
sun
rose
,
flooding
it
all
with
light
and
vitality
.
I
came
upon
a
busy
swarm
of
little
frogs
in
a
swampy
place
among
the
trees
.
I
stopped
to
look
at
them
,
drawing
a
lesson
from
their
stout
resolve
to
live
.
And
presently
,
turning
suddenly
,
with
an
odd
feeling
of
being
watched
,
I
beheld
something
crouching
amid
a
clump
of
bushes
.
I
stood
regarding
this
.
I
made
a
step
towards
it
,
and
it
rose
up
and
became
a
man
armed
with
a
cutlass
.
I
approached
him
slowly
.
He
stood
silent
and
motionless
,
regarding
me
.
