BOOK ONE: THE COMING OF THE MARTIANS
CHAPTER 13: HOW I FELL IN WITH THE CURATE
And even as I spoke he sprang to his feet and stopped me
by a gesture.
"Listen!" he said.
From beyond the low hills across the water came the dull
resonance of distant guns and a remote weird crying. Then
everything was still. A cockchafer came droning over the
hedge and past us. High in the west the crescent moon hung
faint and pale above the smoke of Weybridge and Shepperton and the hot, still splendour of the sunset.
"We had better follow this path," I said, "northward."