Chapter 993:

How do I get home.
As far as I am concerned, I remember nothing except the pressure of making mistakes on the trees and stumbling in the heathland. Everything about me has gathered horror invisible to the Martians. That ruthless hot sword seemed to reverberate back and forth, flourishing above my head before it came down, killing me. I came to the road between the intersection and Hallhill, and ran along this road to the intersection.
Finally, I can't go anymore. I was exhausted by my emotions and the violence I avoided, and I staggered down on the side of the road. It was near the bridge that crossed the canal at the gasworks. I fell and lay down.
I must have stayed there for a while.
I sat up, confused. Maybe for a while, I cannot clearly understand how I got there. My fear fell from me like clothes. My hat is missing, and my collar fell off its fasteners. A few minutes ago, there were only three things in front of me: the night sky, nature and natural infinity, my own weakness and pain, and the approach of death. Now it seems that something has happened, and the point of view has suddenly changed. There is no wise change from one state of mind to another. I immediately became everyone's self again-a decent ordinary citizen. The silent common ground, my impulse to fly, the first flame, as if they were dreaming. I asked myself did these funerals really happen? I can not believe.
I stood up and walked steadily on the steep of the bridge. My mind is blank. My muscles and nerves seem to be exhausted. I dare say I am drunk and staggered. Above the arch, there was a figure of a worker carrying a basket. A little boy ran beside him. He passed me and wish me good night. I wanted to talk to him, but I didn't. I answered his greeting with a meaningless mumbling, and then crossed the bridge.
On Maybury Arch, a train, the noise of billowing white smoke, and the bright windows of long caterpillars, flew south-clapper, clap, clap, rap, it had disappeared. A group of dim people talked on the door of a house in a small row of gables on the gable, which is called the Oriental Terrace. Everything is so real and so familiar. That's behind me! It's crazy, awesome! I told myself that this kind of thing is impossible.
Maybe I am a person in a bad mood. I don't know how common my experience is. Sometimes I suffer from the strangest sense of separation from myself and the world around me; I seem to see it all from the outside, out of reach, time, space, pressure and tragedy. That night, this feeling was very strong in me. This is the other side of my dream.
But the trouble is that this quiet blankness is untimely, and the leap of rapid death, two miles away. The gas factory made a sound of business and all the lights were on. I stopped at the group of people.
"What is ordinary news?" I said.
There were two men and a woman at the door.
"Huh?" said one of the men, turning around.
"What is ordinary news?" I said.
"Didn't you just be there?" the man asked.
The lady at the gate said: "People seem to be stupid to ordinary people." "What's the blame?"
"Have you never heard of people from Mars?" I said "A creature from Mars?"
"Enough," said the lady at the door. ""; all three of them laughed.
I feel stupid and angry. I tried to find that I couldn't tell them what I saw. They laughed at my sentence again.
I said: "You will hear more." Then I continued to my home.
I was shocked by my wife at the door, so I was very. I walked into the dining room, sat down, drank some wine, and when I packed myself, I immediately told her what I saw. The dinner was already cold and served. When I told the story, the dinner on the dinner table was ignored.
I said, "One thing is to alleviate the fear that I have caused." They are the dullest things I have ever seen. They may leave pits and kill people nearby, but they cannot escape. . . . But their horror! "
"No, dear!" my wife said, knitting her eyebrows and putting her hand on my body.
"Poor Ogilvy!" I said. "Thinking he might have died there!"
At least my wife did not find my experience incredible. When I saw how deadly her face was, I suddenly stopped.
"They might come here," she said again and again.
I forced her to drink and tried to reassure her.
I said, "They can hardly move."
I comforted her and myself by repeating everything that Ogilvy told me about the Martians’ inability to build themselves on Earth. I especially emphasized the difficulty of gravity. On the surface of the earth, gravity is three times that of Mars. Therefore, the Martian's weight will be three times that of the Martian, even though his muscle strength is the same. Therefore, his own body can cope with him. Indeed, this is a common view. Regardless of the Times and the Daily Telegraph, for example, sticking to it the next morning, have ignored, like me, two obvious changes.
We now know that the Earth’s atmosphere contains more oxygen or less argon than the Martian atmosphere, either way. Excessive oxygen has an exciting effect on Martians, undoubtedly offsetting the increase in body weight. Secondly, all of us have overlooked the fact that the mechanical intelligence possessed by Martians can completely eliminate critical muscle fatigue.
But I did not consider these points at the time, so my reasoning died in front of the aggressor's opportunity. With wine and food, the confidence on my own table, and the need to reassure my wife, I grew up bravely and steadily to an unreasonable degree.
"They did a stupid thing," I said, pointing to the glass. "They are dangerous because there is no doubt that they are crazy about it. Maybe they hope they can't find any creatures-of course they can't find smart creatures."
I said: "The shells in the pit, if the worst happens, they will all be killed."
The fierce excitement of these events undoubtedly put my perception ability in an ethical state. I remember that dining table is very vivid so far. The sweet and anxious expression of my dear wife stared at me from under the pink lampshade, white cloth with silver and glass tables and chairs, because in those days, even philosophers had a lot of luxury. different. Finally, I sat down and blended the nuts with cigarettes, regretting Ogilvy’s indiscretion, and condemning the Martians’ shortsightedness and timidity.
Therefore, some respected dodo birds in Mauritius may have hidden them in their nests and discussed the arrival of the ruthless sailors who lack animals. "My dear, we will peck them to death tomorrow."
I don't know, but this is the last civilized dinner I have to eat a lot of strange and bad days.
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