with the midsummer sunset.
I sat up, and at the rustle of my motion he looked at me quickly.
Have you any water? I asked abruptly.
He shook his head.
You have been asking for water for the last hour, he said.
For a moment we were silent, taking stock of each other. I dare say he
found me a strange enough figure, naked, save for my water-soaked
trousers and socks, scalded, and my face and shoulders blackened by the
smoke. His face was a fair weakness, his chin retreated, and his hair
lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his low forehead; his eyes were
rather large, pale blue, and blankly staring. He spoke abruptly,
looking vacantly away from me.
What does it mean? he said. What do these things mean?
I stared at him and made no answer.
He extended a thin white hand and spoke in almost a complaining tone.
Why are these things permitted? What sins have we done? The morning
service was over, I was walking through the roads to clear my brain for
the afternoon, and then fire, earthquake, death! As if it were Sodom
and Gomorrah! All our work undone, all the work What are these
Martians?
What are we? I answered, clearing my throat.
He gripped his knees and turned to look at me again. For half a minute,
perhaps, he stared silently.
I was walking through the roads to clear my brain, he said. And
suddenly fire, earthquake, death!
He relapsed into silence, with his chin now sunken almost to his knees.
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