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Dim and wonderful is the vision I have conjured up in
my mind of life spreading slowly from this little seed bed
of the solar system throughout the inanimate vastness of
sidereal space. But that is a remote dream. It may be, on
the other hand, that the destruction of the Martians is only
a reprieve. To them, and not to us, perhaps, is the future
ordained.
I must confess the stress and danger of the time have left
an abiding sense of doubt and insecurity in my mind. I sit
in my study writing by lamplight, and suddenly I see again
the healing valley below set with writhing flames, and feel
the house behind and about me empty and desolate. I go
out into the Byfleet Road, and vehicles pass me, a butcher
boy in a cart, a cabful of visitors, a workman on a bicycle,
children going to school, and suddenly they become vague
and unreal, and I hurry again with the artilleryman through
the hot, brooding silence. Of a night I see the black powder
darkening the silent streets, and the contorted bodies
shrouded in that layer; they rise upon me tattered and
dog-bitten. They gibber and grow fiercer, paler, uglier, mad
distortions of humanity at last, and I wake, cold and wretched,
in the darkness of the night.
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