BOOK ONE: THE COMING OF THE MARTIANS
CHAPTER 16: THE EXODUS FROM LONDON
(continued)
One of the men came running to my brother.
"Where is there any water?" he said. "He is dying fast,
and very thirsty. It is Lord Garrick."
"Lord Garrick!" said my brother; "the Chief Justice?"
"The water?" he said.
"There may be a tap," said my brother, "in some of the
houses. We have no water. I dare not leave my people."
The man pushed against the crowd towards the gate of the
corner house.
"Go on!" said the people, thrusting at him. "They are
coming! Go on!"
Then my brother's attention was distracted by a bearded,
eagle-faced man lugging a small handbag, which split even
as my brother's eyes rested on it and disgorged a mass of
sovereigns that seemed to break up into separate coins as it
struck the ground. They rolled hither and thither among the
struggling feet of men and horses. The man stopped and
looked stupidly at the heap, and the shaft of a cab struck
his shoulder and sent him reeling. He gave a shriek and
dodged back, and a cartwheel shaved him narrowly.
"Way!" cried the men all about him. "Make way!"
So soon as the cab had passed, he flung himself, with both
hands open, upon the heap of coins, and began thrusting
handfuls in his pocket. A horse rose close upon him, and in
another moment, half rising, he had been borne down under
the horse's hoofs.
"Stop!" screamed my brother, and pushing a woman out
of his way, tried to clutch the bit of the horse.
Before he could get to it, he heard a scream under the
wheels, and saw through the dust the rim passing over the
poor wretch's back. The driver of the cart slashed his whip
at my brother, who ran round behind the cart. The multitudinous shouting confused his ears. The man was writhing
in the dust among his scattered money, unable to rise, for
the wheel had broken his back, and his lower limbs lay limp
and dead. My brother stood up and yelled at the next driver,
and a man on a black horse came to his assistance.
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