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blackened by the smoke. His face was a fair weakness, his chin
retreated, and his hair lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his low
forehead; his eyes were rather large, pale blue, and blankly staring.
He spoke abruptly, looking vacantly away from me.
"What does it mean?" he said. "What do these things mean?"
I stared at him and made no answer.
He extended a thin white hand and spoke in almost a complaining
tone.
"Why are these things permitted? What sins have we done? The
morning service was over, I was walking through the roads to clear my
brain for the afternoon, and then--fire, earthquake, death! As if it
were Sodom and Gomorrah! All our work undone, all the work---- What
are these Martians?"
"
What are we?" I answered, clearing my throat.
He gripped his knees and turned to look at me again. For half a
minute, perhaps, he stared silently.
"I was walking through the roads to clear my brain," he said. "And
suddenly--fire, earthquake, death!"
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