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He willed it only just in time, for his clothes, heated by his rapid
flight through the air, were already beginning to singe. He came down
with a forcible, but by no means injurious bump in what appeared to be a
mound of fresh-turned earth. A large mass of metal and masonry,
extraordinarily like the clock-tower in the middle of the market-square,
hit the earth near him, ricochetted over him, and flew into stonework,
bricks, and masonry, like a bursting bomb. A hurtling cow hit one of the
larger blocks and smashed like an egg. There was a crash that made all
the most violent crashes of his past life seem like the sound of falling
dust, and this was followed by a descending series of lesser crashes. A
vast wind roared throughout earth and heaven, so that he could scarcely
lift his head to look. For a while he was too breathless and astonished
even to see where he was or what had happened. And his first movement
was to feel his head and reassure himself that his streaming hair was
still his own.
"
Lord!" gasped Mr. Fotheringay, scarce able to speak for the gale, "I've
had a squeak! What's gone wrong? Storms and thunder. And only a minute
ago a fine night. It's Maydig set me on to this sort of thing. What a
wind! If I go on fooling in this way I'm bound to have a thundering
accident!...
"
"
Where's Maydig?
What a confounded mess everything's in!"
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