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The First Men In The Moon | H. G. [Herbert George] Wells | |
Mr. Bedford Alone |
Page 7 of 7 |
But such incidents were as nothing to the intervals, those awful pauses when one drifted through the air towards that pouring tide of night. My breathing made a piping noise, and it was as though knives were whirling in my lungs. My heart seemed to beat against the top of my brain. "Shall I reach it? O Heaven! Shall I reach it?" My whole being became anguish. "Lie down!" screamed my pain and despair; "lie down!" The near I struggled, the more awfully remote it seemed. I was numb, I stumbled, I bruised and cut myself and did not bleed. It was in sight. I fell on all fours, and my lungs whooped. I crawled. The frost gathered on my lips, icicles hung from my moustache, I was white with the freezing atmosphere. I was a dozen yards from it. My eyes had become dim. "Lie down!" screamed despair; "lie down!" I touched it, and halted. "Too late!" screamed despair; "lie down!" I fought stiffly with it. I was on the manhole lip, a stupefied, half-dead being. The snow was all about me. I pulled myself in. There lurked within a little warmer air. The snowflakes - the airflakes - danced in about me, as I tried with chilling hands to thrust the valve in and spun it tight and hard. I sobbed. "I will," I chattered in my teeth. And then, with fingers that quivered and felt brittle, I turned to the shutter studs. |
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The First Men In The Moon H. G. [Herbert George] Wells |
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