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Since then he had been skulking along towards Maybury,
in the hope of getting out of danger Londonward. People
were hiding in trenches and cellars, and many of the survivors
had made off towards Woking village and Send. He had been
consumed with thirst until he found one of the water mains
near the railway arch smashed, and the water bubbling out
like a spring upon the road.
That was the story I got from him, bit by bit. He grew
calmer telling me and trying to make me see the things he
had seen. He had eaten no food since midday, he told me
early in his narrative, and I found some mutton and bread
in the pantry and brought it into the room. We lit no lamp
for fear of attracting the Martians, and ever and again our
hands would touch upon bread or meat. As he talked, things
about us came darkly out of the darkness, and the trampled
bushes and broken rose trees outside the window grew distinct.
It would seem that a number of men or animals had
rushed across the lawn. I began to see his face, blackened
and haggard, as no doubt mine was also.
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