BOOK ONE: THE COMING OF THE MARTIANS
CHAPTER 16: THE EXODUS FROM LONDON
(continued)
As my brother's party went on towards the crossroads to
the south of Barnet they saw a woman approaching the road
across some fields on their left, carrying a child and with two
other children; and then passed a man in dirty black, with a
thick stick in one hand and a small portmanteau in the other.
Then round the corner of the lane, from between the villas
that guarded it at its confluence with the high road, came a
little cart drawn by a sweating black pony and driven by a
sallow youth in a bowler hat, grey with dust. There were
three girls, East End factory girls, and a couple of little children crowded in the cart.
"This'll tike us rahnd Edgware?" asked the driver, wild-eyed, white-faced; and when my brother told him it would
if he turned to the left, he whipped up at once without the
formality of thanks.
My brother noticed a pale grey smoke or haze rising among
the houses in front of them, and veiling the white
facade of a terrace beyond the road that appeared
between the backs of the villas. Mrs. Elphinstone suddenly cried
out at a number of tongues of smoky red flame leaping up above
the houses in front of them against the hot, blue sky. The
tumultuous noise resolved itself now into the disorderly mingling
of many voices, the gride of many wheels, the creaking of
waggons, and the staccato of hoofs. The lane came round sharply
not fifty yards from the crossroads.
"Good heavens!" cried Mrs. Elphinstone. "What is this
you are driving us into?"
My brother stopped.
For the main road was a boiling stream of people, a torrent of human beings rushing northward, one pressing on
another. A great bank of dust, white and luminous in the
blaze of the sun, made everything within twenty feet of the
ground grey and indistinct and was perpetually renewed by
the hurrying feet of a dense crowd of horses and of men and
women on foot, and by the wheels of vehicles of every description.
"Way!" my brother heard voices crying. "Make way!"
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