to feast upon my misery. They dissuaded me. They did all they could

to divert me from this morbidity. But at last I could resist the

impulse no longer, and, promising faithfully to return to them, and

parting, as I will confess, from these four-day friends with tears, I

went out again into the streets that had lately been so dark and

strange and empty.

Already they were busy with returning people; in places even there

were shops open, and I saw a drinking fountain running water.

I remember how mockingly bright the day seemed as I went back on my

melancholy pilgrimage to the little house at Woking, how busy the

streets and vivid the moving life about me. So many people were

abroad everywhere, busied in a thousand activities, that it seemed

incredible that any great proportion of the population could have been

slain. But then I noticed how yellow were the skins of the people I

met, how shaggy the hair of the men, how large and bright their eyes,

and that every other man still wore his dirty rags. Their faces

seemed all with one of two expressions--a leaping exultation and

energy or a grim resolution. Save for the expression of the faces,

London seemed a city of tramps. The vestries were indiscriminately

distributing bread sent us by the French government. The ribs of the

few horses showed dismally. Haggard special constables with white

badges stood at the corners of every street. I saw little of the

mischief wrought by the Martians until I reached Wellington Street,

and there I saw the red weed clambering over the buttresses of

251

The War of the Worlds