BOOK TWO: THE EARTH UNDER THE MARTIANS
CHAPTER 7: THE MAN ON PUTNEY HILL
(continued)
"I've no wish to stop about here," said I. "I think I shall
go to Leatherhead, for my wife was there."
He shot out a pointing finger.
"It is you," said he; "the man from Woking. And you
weren't killed at Weybridge?"
I recognised him at the same moment.
"You are the artilleryman who came into my garden."
"Good luck!" he said. "We are lucky ones! Fancy YOU!" He
put out a hand, and I took it. "I crawled up a drain," he said.
"But they didn't kill everyone. And after they went away I
got off towards Walton across the fields. But---- It's not
sixteen days altogether--and your hair is grey." He looked
over his shoulder suddenly. "Only a rook," he said. "One
gets to know that birds have shadows these days. This is a
bit open. Let us crawl under those bushes and talk."
"Have you seen any Martians?" I said. "Since I crawled
out----"
"They've gone away across London," he said. "I guess
they've got a bigger camp there. Of a night, all over there,
Hampstead way, the sky is alive with their lights. It's like
a great city, and in the glare you can just see them moving.
By daylight you can't. But nearer--I haven't seen them--"
(he counted on his fingers) "five days. Then I saw a couple
across Hammersmith way carrying something big. And the
night before last"--he stopped and spoke impressively--"it
was just a matter of lights, but it was something up in the
air. I believe they've built a flying-machine, and are learning to fly."
I stopped, on hands and knees, for we had come to the
bushes.
"Fly!"
"Yes," he said, "fly."
I went on into a little bower, and sat down.
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